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DUKE   UNIVERSITY 

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Glenn  R.   Negley 


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THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 


THE 

WORLD  SET  FREE 

A  STORY  OF  MANKIND 


BY 

H.  G.  WELLS 


NEW YORK 

EPvDUTTON  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyriglit,  I914 
By  H.  G.  Wells 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


XJTOPfA 


TO 

FREDERICK  SODDY'S 

INTERPRETATION  OF  RADIUM 

THIS  STORY 

WHICH  OWES  LONG  PASSAGES 

TO  HIS  ELEVENTH    CHAPTER 

ACKNOWLEDGES  AND  INSCRIBES  ITSELF 


CONTENTS 

PRELUDE 

The  Sun  Snarers :.     .     .     ii 

CHAPTER  THE  FIRST 
The  New  Source  of  Energy 40 

CHAPTER  THE  SECOND 

The  Last  War 89 

CHAPTER  THE  THIRD 
The  Ending  of  War .   149 

CHAPTER  THE  FOURTH 
The  New  Phase .     .  210 

CHAPTER  THE  FIFTH 
The  Last  Days  of  Marcus  Karenin     .     .      .  265 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 


PRELUDE 

The  Sun  Snarers 


The  history  of  mankind  Is  the  history  of  the  at- 
tainment of  external  power.  Man  Is  the  tool-us- 
ing, fire-making  animal.  From  the  outset  of  his 
terrestrial  career  we  find  him  supplementing  the 
natural  strength  and  bodily  weapons  of  a  beast  by 
the  heat  of  burning  and  the  rough  Implement  of 
stone.  So  he  passed  beyond  the  ape.  From  that 
he  expands.  Presently  he  added  to  himself  the 
power  of  the  horse  and  the  ox,  he  borrowed  the 
carrying  strength  of  water  and  the  driving  force 
of  the  wind,  he  quickened  his  fire  by  blowing,  and 
his  simple  tools,  pointed  first  with  copper  and  then 
with  iron,  increased  and  varied  and  became  more 
elaborate  and  efl^clent.  He  sheltered  his  heat  In 
houses  and  made  his  way  easier  by  paths  and  roads. 
He  complicated  his  social   relationships  and  In- 

1 1 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

creased  his  efficiency  by  the  division  of  labour. 
He  began  to  store  up  knowledge.  Contrivance 
followed  contrivance,  each  making  it  possible  for  a 
man  to  do  more.  Always  down  the  lengthening 
record,  save  for  a  set-back  ever  and  again,  he  is 
doing  more.   .   .   . 

A  quarter  of  a  million  years  ago  the  utmost  man 
was  a  savage,  a  being  scarcely  articulate,  sheltering 
in  holes  in  the  rocks,  armed  with  a  rough-hewn 
flint  or  a  fire-pointed  stick,  naked,  living  in  small 
family  groups,  killed  by  some  younger  man  so  soon 
as  his  first  virile  activity  declined.  Over  most  of 
the  great  wildernesses  of  earth  you  would  have 
sought  him  in  vain;  only  in  a  few  temperate  and 
subtropical  river  valleys  would  you  have  found  the 
squatting  lairs  of  his  little  herds,  a  male,  a  few  fe- 
males, a  child  or  so. 

He  knew  no  future  then,  no  kind  of  life  except 
the  life  he  led.  He  fled  the  cave-bear  over  the 
rocks  full  of  iron  ore  and  the  promise  of  sword  and 
spear;  he  froze  to  death  upon  a  ledge  of  coal;  he 
drank  water  muddy  with  clay  that  would  one  day 
make  cups  of  porcelain;  he  chewed  the  ear  of  wild 
wheat  he  had  plucked  and  gazed  with  a  dim  spec- 
ulation in  his  eyes  at  the  birds  that  soared  beyond 
his  reach.  Or  suddenly  he  became  aware  of  the 
scent  of  another  male  and  rose  up  roaring,  his 
roars   the   formless   precursors   of  moral   admo- 

12 


PRELUDE 

nitlons.     For  he  was  a  great  individualist,  that 
original,  he  suffered  none  other  than  himself. 

So  through  the  long  generations,  this  heavy  pre- 
cursor, this  ancestor  of  all  of  us,  fought  and  bred 
and  perished,  changing  almost  imperceptibly. 

Yet  he  changed.  That  keen  chisel  of  necessity 
which  sharpened  the  tiger's  claw  age  by  age  and 
fined  down  the  clumsy  Orohippus  to  the  swift 
grace  of  the  horse,  was  at  work  upon  him  —  Is  at 
work  upon  him  still.  The  clumsier  and  more 
stupidly  fierce  among  him  were  killed  soonest  and 
oftenest;  the  finer  hand,  the  quicker  eye,  the  bigger 
brain,  the  better  balanced  body  prevailed;  age  by 
age  the  implements  were  a  little  better  made,  the 
man  a  little  more  delicately  adjusted  to  his  pos- 
sibilities. He  became  more  social;  his  herd  grew 
larger;  no  longer  did  each  man  kill  or  drive  out 
his  growing  sons;  a  system  of  taboos  made  them 
tolerable  to  him,  and  they  revered  him  alive  and 
soon  even  after  he  was  dead,  and  were  his  allies 
against  the  beasts  and  the  rest  of  mankind.  (But 
they  were  forbidden  to  touch  the  women  of  the 
tribe,  they  had  to  go  out  and  capture  women  for 
themsel/es,  and  each  son  fled  from  his  stepmother 
and  hid  from  her  lest  the  anger  of  the  Old  Man 
should  be  roused.  All  the  world  over,  even  to  this 
day,  these  ancient  inevitable  taboos  can  be  traced.) 
And  now  Instead  of  caves  came  huts  and  hovels, 

13 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  the  fire  was  better  tended,  and  there  were 
wrappings  and  garments;  and  so  aided,  the  cre- 
ature spread  into  colder  climates,  carrying  food 
with  him,  storing  food  —  until  sometimes  the 
neglected  grass-seed  sprouted  again  and  gave  a 
first  hint  of  agriculture. 

And  already  there  were  the  beginnings  of  leisure 
and  thought. 

Man  began  to  think.  There  were  times  when 
he  was  fed,  when  his  lusts  and  his  fears  were  all 
appeased,  when  the  sun  shone  upon  the  squatting- 
place  and  dim  stirrings  of  speculation  lit  his  eyes. 
He  scratched  upon  a  bone  and  found  resemblance 
and  pursued  it  and  began  pictorial  art,  moulded 
the  soft  warm  clay  of  the  river  brink  between  his 
fingers  and  found  a  pleasure  in  its  patternings  and 
repetitions,  shaped  it  into  the  form  of  vessels  and 
found  that  it  would  hold  water.  He  watched  the 
streaming  river  and  wondered  from  what  bountiful 
breast  this  incessant  water  came;  he  blinked  at  the 
sun  and  dreamt  that  perhaps  he  might  snare  it  and 
spear  it  as  it  went  down  to  its  resting-place  amidst 
the  distant  hills.  Then  he  was  roused  to  convey 
to  his  brother  that  once  indeed  he  had  done  so  — 
at  least  that  someone  had  done  so  —  he  mixed  that 
perhaps  with  another  dream  almost  as  daring,  that 
one  day  a  mammoth  had  been  beset;  and  therewith 
began  fiction  —  pointing  a  way  to  achievement  — 

14 


PRELUDE 

and  the  august,  prophetic  procession  of  tales. 
For  scores  and  hundreds  of  centuries,  for 
myriads  of  generations,  that  life  of  our  fathers 
went  on.  From  the  beginning  to  the  ripening  of 
that  phase  of  human  life,  from  the  first  clumsy 
eoliths  of  rudely  chipped  flint  to  the  first  imple- 
ments of  polished  stone,  was  two  or  three  thousand 
centuries,  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  generations.  So 
slowly,  by  human  standards,  did  humanity  gather 
itself  together  out  of  the  dim  intimations  of  the 
beast.  And  that  first  glimmering  of  speculation, 
that  first  story  of  achievement,  that  story-teller, 
bright-eyed  and  flushed  under  his  matted  hair, 
gesticulating  to  his  gaping,  Incredulous  listener, 
gripping  his  wrist  to  keep  him  attentive,  was  the 
most  marvellous  beginning  this  world  has  ever 
seen.  It  doomed  the  mammoths,  and  it  began  the 
setting  of  that  snare  that  shall  catch  the  sun. 

§  2. 
That  dream  was  but  a  moment  In  a  man's  life, 
whose  proper  business  it  seemed  was  to  get  food 
and  kill  his  fellows  and  beget  after  the  manner  of 
all  that  belongs  to  the  fellowship  of  the  beasts. 
About  him,  hidden  from  him  by  the  thinnest  of 
veils,  were  the  untouched  sources  of  Power,  whose 
magnitude  we  scarcely  do  more  than  suspect  even 
to-day.  Power  that  could  make  his  every  concelv- 

15 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

able  dream  come  real.  But  the  feet  of  the  race 
were  in  the  way  of  It,  though  he  died  blindly  un- 
knowing. 

At  last,  in  the  generous  levels  of  warm  river  val- 
leys, where  food  is  abundant  and  life  very  easy, 
the  emerging  human,  overcoming  his  earlier 
jealousies,  becoming,  as  necessity  persecuted  him 
less  urgently,  more  social  and  tolerant  and  amen- 
able, achieved  a  larger  community.  There  began 
a  division  of  labour,  certain  of  the  older  men 
specialised  In  knowledge  and  direction,  a  strong 
man  took  the  fatherly  leadership  in  war,  and  priest 
and  king  began  to  develop  their  roles  In  the  open- 
ing drama  of  man's  history.  The  priest's  solici- 
tude was  seed-time  and  harvest  and  fertility,  and 
the  king  ruled  peace  and  war.  In  a  hundred  river 
valleys  about  the  warm  temperate  zone  of  the 
earth  there  were  already  towns  and  temples,  a 
score  of  thousand  years  ago.  They  flourished  un- 
recorded, ignoring  the  past  and  unsuspicious  of  the 
future,  for  as  yet  writing  had  still  to  begin. 

Very  slowly  did  man  Increase  his  demand  upon 
the  illimitable  wealth  of  Power  that  offered  Itself 
on  every  hand  to  him.  He  tamed  certain  animals, 
he  developed  his  primordially  haphazard  agricul- 
ture into  a  ritual,  he  added  first  one  metal  to  his 
resources,  and  then  another,  until  he  had  copper 
and  tin  and  iron  and  lead  and  gold  and  silver  to 

i6 


PRELUDE 

supplement  his  stone ;  he  hewed  and  carved  wood, 
made  pottery,  paddled  down  his  river  until  he 
came  to  the  sea,  discovered  the  wheel  and  made  the 
first  roads.  But  his  chief  activity  for  a  hundred 
centuries  and  more  was  the  subjugation  of  himself 
and  others  to  larger  and  larger  societies.  The 
history  of  man  Is  not  simply  the  conquest  of  ex- 
ternal power;  it  Is  first  the  conquest  of  those  dis- 
trusts and  fiercenesses,  that  self-concentration  and 
Intensity  of  animalism,  that  tie  his  hands  from 
taking  his  Inheritance.  The  ape  In  us  still  resents 
association.  From  the  dawn  of  the  age  of  pol- 
ished stone  to  the  achievement  of  the  Peace  of  the 
World,  man's  dealings  were  chiefly  with  himself 
and  his  fellow  man,  trading,  bargaining,  law- 
making, propitiating,  enslaving,  conquering,  ex- 
terminating, and  every  little  increment  in  Power, 
he  turned  at  once  and  always  turns  to  the  purposes 
of  this  confused,  elaborate  struggle  to  socialise. 
To  Incorporate  and  comprehend  his  fellow  men 
into  a  community  of  purpose  became  the  last  and 
greatest  of  his  Instincts.  Already,  before  the  last 
polished  phase  of  the  stone  age  was  over,  he  had 
become  a  political  animal.  He  made  astonish- 
ingly far-reaching  discoveries  within  himself,  first 
of  counting  and  then  of  writing  and  making  rec- 
ords, and  with  that  his  town  communities  began  to 
stretch  out  to  dominion ;  In  the  valleys  of  the  Nile, 

17 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

the  Euphrates,  and  the  great  Chinese  rivers,  the 
first  empires  and  the  first  written  laws  had  their 
beginnings.  Men  specialised  for  fighting  and  rule 
as  soldiers  and  knights.  Later,  as  ships  grew  sea- 
worthy, the  Mediterranean,  which  had  been  a  bar- 
rier, became  a  highway,  and  at  last,  out  of  a  tangle 
of  pirate  polities,  came  the  great  struggle  of 
Carthage  and  Rome.  The  history  of  Europe  is 
the  history  of  the  victory  and  breaking  up  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  Every  ascendant  monarch  in 
Europe  up  to  the  last,  aped  Caesar  and  called  him- 
self Kaiser  or  Czar  or  Imperator  or  Kasir-i-Hind. 
Measured  by  the  duration  of  human  life,  it  is  a  vast 
space  of  time  between  that  first  dynasty  in  Egypt 
and  the  coming  of  the  aeroplanes,  but  by  the  scale 
that  looks  back  to  the  makers  of  the  eoliths  it  is 
all  of  it  a  story  of  yesterday. 

Now  during  this  period  of  two  hundred  centu- 
ries or  more,  this  period  of  the  warring  states, 
while  men's  minds  were  chiefly  preoccupied  by 
politics  and  mutual  aggression,  their  progress  in 
the  acquirement  of  external  Power  was  slow,  rapid 
in  comparison  with  the  progress  of  the  old  stone 
age,  but  slow  in  comparison  with  this  new  age  of 
systematic  discovery  in  which  we  live.  They  did 
not  very  greatly  alter  the  weapons  and  tactics  of 
warfare,  the  methods  of  agriculture,  seamanship, 
their  knowledge  of  the  habitable  globe,  or  the  de- 

i8 


PRELUDE 

vices  and  utensils  of  domestic  life  between  the  days 
of  the  early  Egyptians  and  the  days  when  Christo- 
pher Columbus   was  a   child.     Of  course,   there 
were  inventions  and  changes,  but  there  were  also 
retrogressions;  things  were  found  out  and  then 
forgotten  again;  it  was  on  the  whole  a  progress, 
but  it  contained  no  steps;  the  peasant  life  was  the 
same,  there  were  already  priests  and  lawyers  and 
town  craftsmen  and  territorial  lords  and  rulers, 
doctors,  wise  women,  soldiers  and  sailors  in  Egypt 
and  China  and  Assyria  and  south-eastern  Europe 
at  the  beginning  of  that  period,  and  they  were  do- 
ing much  the  same  things  and  living  much  the 
same  life  as  they  were  in  Europe  in   1500  a.d. 
The   English  excavators   of  the  year    1900  a.d. 
could  delve  into  the  remains  of  Babylon  and  Egypt 
and  disinter  legal   documents,   domestic  accounts 
and  family  correspondence  that  they  could  read 
with     the     completest     sympathy.     There     were 
great  religious  and  moral  changes  throughout  the 
period,    empires   and   republics   replaced   one   an- 
other, Italy  tried  a  vast  experiment  in  slavery,  and 
mdeed   slavery   was   tried   again   and   again    and 
failed  and  failed  and  was  still  to  be  tested  again 
and  rejected  again  in  the  New  World;  Christianity 
and  Mahometanism  swept  away  a  thousand  m.ore 
specialised  cults,   but  essentially  these  were  pro- 
gressive adaptations  of  mankind  to  material  con- 

19 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

ditions  that  must  have  seemed  fixed  for  ever. 
The  idea  of  revolutionary  changes  in  the  material 
conditions  of  life  would  have  been  entirely  strange 
to  human  thought  through  all  that  time. 

Yet  the  dreamer,  the  story-teller,  was  there  still, 
waiting  for  his  opportunity  amidst  the  busy  preoc- 
cupations, the  comings  and  goings,  the  wars  and 
processions,  the  castle  building  and  cathedral 
building,  the  arts  and  loves,  the  small  diplomacies 
and  incurable  feuds,  the  crusades  and  trading  jour- 
neys of  the  Middle  Ages.  He  no  longer  specu- 
lated with  the  untrammelled  freedom  of  the  Stone 
Age  savage;  authoritative  explanations  of  every- 
thing barred  his  path;  but  he  speculated  with  a 
better  brain,  sat  idle  and  gazed  at  circling  stars 
in  the  sky  and  mused  upon  the  coin  and  crystal  in 
his  hand.  Whenever  there  was  a  certain  leisure 
for  thought  throughout  these  times,  then  men 
were  to  be  found  dissatisfied  with  the  appear- 
ances of  things,  dissatisfied  with  the  assurances 
of  orthodox  belief,  uneasy  with  a  sense  of  unread 
symbols  in  the  world  about  them,  questioning  the 
finality  of  scholastic  wisdom.  Through  all  the 
ages  of  history  there  were  men  to  whom  this  whis- 
per had  come  of  hidden  things  about  them.  They 
could  no  longer  lead  ordinary  lives  nor  content 
themselves  with  the  common  things  of  this  world 
once  they  had  heard  this  voice.     And  mostly  they 

20 


PRELUDE 

believed  not  only  that  all  this  world  was,  as  it  were, 
a  painted  curtain  before  things  unguessed  at,  but 
that  these  secrets  were  Power.  Hitherto  Power 
had  come  to  men  by  chance,  but  now  there  were 
these  seekers,  seeking,  seeking  among  rare  and 
curious  and  perplexing  objects,  sometimes  finding 
some  odd  utilisable  thing,  sometimes  deceiving 
themselves  with  fancied  discovery,  sometimes  pre- 
tending to  find.  The  world  of  every  day  laughed 
at  these  eccentric  beings,  or  found  them  annoying 
and  ill-treated  them,  or  was  seized  with  fear  and 
made  saints  and  sorcerers  and  warlocks  of  them, 
or  with  covetousness  and  entertained  them  hope- 
fully; but  for  the  greater  part.heeded  them  not  at 
all.  Yet  they  were  of  the  blood  of  him  who  had 
first  dreamt  of  attacking  the  mammoth;  every  one 
of  them  was  of  his  blood  and  descent;  and  the 
thing  they  sought,  all  unwittingly,  was  the  snare 
that  will  some  day  catch  the  sun. 

§  3- 
Such  a  man  was  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  who  went 
about  the  court  of  Sforza  in  Milan  in  a  state  of 
dignified  abstraction.  His  commonplace  books 
are  full  of  prophedc  subtlety  and  Ingenious 
anticipations  of  the  methods  of  the  early  avi- 
ators. Diirer  was  his  parallel  and  Roger  Ba- 
con —  whom      the      Franciscans      silenced  —  of 

21 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

his  kindred.  Such  a  man,  again,  in  an  earlier 
city  was  Hero  of  Alexandria,  who  knew  of  the 
power  of  steam  nineteen  hundred  years  before 
it  was  first  brought  into  use.  And  earlier 
still  was  Archimedes  of  Syracuse,  and  still  earlier 
the  legendary  Daedalus  of  Cnossus.  All  up  and 
down  the  record  of  history,  whenever  there  was 
a  little  leisure  from  war  and  brutality,  the 
seekers  appeared.  And  half  the  alchemists  were 
of  their  tribe. 

When  Roger  Bacon  blew  up  his  first  batch  of 
gunpowder  one  might  have  supposed  that  men 
would  have  gone  on  at  once  to  the  explosive  en- 
gine. But  they  could  see  nothing  of  the  sort. 
They  were  not  yet  beginning  to  think  of  seeing 
things;  their  metallurgy  was  all  too  poor  to  make 
such  engines,  even  had  they  thought  of  them.  For 
a  time  they  could  not  make  instruments  sound 
enough  to  stand  this  new  force,  even  for  so  rough 
a  purpose  as  hurling  a  missile,  their  first  guns  had 
barrels  of  coopered  timber,  and  the  world  waited 
for  more  than  five  hundred  years  before  the  explo- 
sive engine  came. 

Even  when  the  seekers  found,  it  was  at  first  a 
long  journey  before  the  world  could  use  their  find- 
ings for  any  but  the  roughest,  most  obvious  pur- 
poses. If  man  in  general  was  not  still  as  abso- 
lutely blind  to  the  unconquered  energies  about  him 

22 


PRELUDE 

as  his  Paleolithic  precursor,  he  was  at  best  pur- 
blind. 

§  4. 

The  latent  energy  of  coal  and  the  power  of 
steam  waited  long  on  the  verge  of  discovery,  be- 
fore they  began  to  Influence  human  lives. 

There  were  no  doubt  many  such  devices  as 
Hero's  toys,  devised  and  forgotten,  time  after 
time,  in  courts  and  palaces,  but  it  needed  that  coal 
should  be  mined  and  burning  with  plentiful  iron 
at  hand  before  it  dawned  upon  men  that  here  was 
something  more  than  a  curiosity.  And  it  is  to  be 
remarked  that  the  first  recorded  suggestion  for  the 
use  of  steam  was  in  war;  there  is  an  Elizabethan 
pamphlet  in  which  It  is  proposed  to  fire  shot  out  of 
corked  Iron  bottles  full  of  heated  water.  The 
mining  of  coal  for  fuel,  the  smelting  of  iron  upon 
a  larger  scale  than  men  had  ever  done  before,  the 
steam  pumping  engine,  the  steam  engine  and  the 
steamboat,  followed  one  another  In  an  order  that 
had  a  kind  of  logical  necessity.  It  is  the  most 
interesting  and  instructive  chapter  in  the  history 
of  human  intelligence,  the  history  of  steam  from 
its  beginning  as  a  fact  in  human  consciousness  to 
the  perfection  of  the  great  turbine  engines  that 
preceded  the  utilisation  of  Intra-molecular  power. 
Nearly  every  human  being  must  have  seen  steam, 
seen  it  incuriously  for  many  thousands  of  years; 

23 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

the  women  in  particular  were  always  heating  wa- 
ter, boiling  it,  seeing  it  boil  away,  seeing  the  lids 
of  vessels  dance  with  its  fury;  millions  of  people 
at  different  times  must  have  watched  steam  pitch- 
ing rocks  out  of  volcanoes  like  cricket  balls  and 
blowing  pumice  Into  foam,  and  yet  you  may  search 
the  whole  human  record'  through,  letters,  books, 
inscriptions,  pictures,  for  any  glimme»r  of  a  reali- 
sation that  here  was  force,  here  was  strength  to 
borrow  and  use.  .  .  .  Then  suddenly  man  woke 
up  to  it,  the  railways  spread  like  a  network  over 
the  globe,  the  ever-enlarging  iron  steamships  be- 
gan their  staggering  fight  against  wind  and  wave. 

Steam  was  the  first  comer  in  the  new  powers, 
it  was  the  beginning  in  the  Age  of  Energy  that 
was  to  close  the  long  history  of  the  Warring  States. 

But  for  a  long  time  men  did  not  realise  the  im- 
portance of  this  novelty.  They  would  not  recog- 
nise, they  were  not  able  to  recognise,  that  anything 
fundamental  had  happened  to  their  immemorial 
necessities.  They  called  the  steam-engine  the 
"  iron  horse  "  and  pretended  that  they  had  made 
the  most  partial  of  substitutions.  Steam  machin- 
ery and  factory  production  were  visibly  revolution- 
ising the  conditions  of  industrial  production, 
population  was  streaming  steadily  in  from  the 
countryside  and  concentrating  in  hitherto  un- 
thought-of  masses  about  a  few  city  centres,  food 

24 


PRELUDE 

was  coming  to  them  over  enormous  distances  upon 
a  scale  that  made  the  one  sole  precedent,  the  corn 
ships  of  imperial  Rome,  a  petty  incident;  and  a 
huge  migration  of  peoples  between  Europe  and 
Western  Asia  and  America  was  in  progress,  and  — 
nobody  seems  to  have  realised  that  something  new 
had  come  into  human  life,  a  strange  swirl  different 
altogether  from  any  previous  circling  and  muta- 
tion, a  swirl  like  the  swirl  when  at  last  the  lock 
gates  begin  to  open  after  a  long  phase  of  accumu- 
lating water  and  eddying  inactivity.  .   .  . 

The  sober  Englishman  at  the  close  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  could  sit  at  his  breakfast-table,  de- 
cide between  tea  from  Ceylon  or  coffee  from  Bra- 
zil, devour  an  egg  from  France  with  some  Danish 
ham,  or  eat  a  New  Zealand  chop,  wind  up  his 
breakfast  with  a  West  Indian  banana,  glance  at 
the  latest  telegrams  from  all  the  world,  scrutinise 
the  prices  current  of  his  geographically  distributed 
investments  in  South  Africa,  Japan  and  Egypt,  and 
tell  the  two  children  he  had  begotten  (In  the  place 
of  his  father's  eight)  that  he  thought  the  world 
changed  very  little.  They  must  play  cricket,  keep 
their  hair  cut,  go  to  the  old  school  he  had  gone  to, 
shirk  the  lessons  he  had  shirked,  learn  a  few  scraps 
of  Horace  and  Virgil  and  Homer  for  the  confusion 
of  cads,  and  all  would  be  well  with  them. 

25 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

§  5. 

Electricity,  though  it  was  perhaps  the  earlier  of 
the  two  to  be  studied,  invaded  the  common  life  of 
men  a  few  decades  after  the  exploitation  of  steam. 
To  electricity  also,  in  spite  of  its  provocative  near- 
ness all  about  him,  mankind  had  been  utterly  blind 
for  incalculable  ages. 

Could  anything  be  more  emphatic  than  the  ap- 
peal of  electricity  for  attention?  It  thundered 
at  man's  ears,  it  signalled  to  him  in  blinding 
flashes,  occasionally  it  killed  him,  and  he  could  not 
see  it  as  a  thing  that  concerned  him  enough  to 
merit  study.  It  came  Into  the  house  with  the  cat 
on  any  dry  day  and  crackled  insinuatingly  when- 
ever he  stroked  her  fur.  It  rotted  his  metals 
when  he  put  them  together.  .  .  .  There  is  no 
single  record  that  anyone  questioned  why  the  cat's 
fur  crackles  or  why  hair  is  so  unruly  to  brush  on  a 
frosty  day,  before  the  sixteenth  century.  For  end- 
less years  man  seems  to  have  done  his  very  suc- 
cessful best  not  to  think  about  it  at  all ;  until  this 
new  spirit  of  the  Seeker  turned  itself  to  these 
things. 

How  often  things  must  have  been  seen  and  dis- 
m.issed  as  unimportant,  before  the  speculative  eye 
and  the  moment  of  vision  came!  It  was  Gilbert, 
Queen  Elizabeth's  court  physician,  who  first  puz- 

26 


PRELUDE 

zled  his  brains  with  rubbed  amber  and  bits  of 
glass  and  silk  and  shellac,  and  so  began  the  quick- 
ening of  the  human  mind  to  the  existence  of  this 
universal  presence.  And  even  then  the  science  of 
electricity  remained  a  mere  little  group  of  curious 
facts  for  nearly  two  hundred  years,  connected  per- 
haps with  magnetism, — a  mere  guess  that — per- 
haps with  the  lightning.  Frogs'  legs  must  have 
hung  by  copper  hooks  from  iron  railings  and 
twitched  upon  countless  occasions  before  Galvani 
saw  them.  Except  for  the  lightning  conductor, 
it  was  250  years  after  Gilbert  before  electricity 
stepped  out  of  the  cabinet  of  scientific  curiosities 
into  the  life  of  the  common  man.  .  .  .  Then 
suddenly  in  the  half  century  between  1880  and 
1930  it  ousted  the  steam  engine  and  took  over 
traction,  it  ousted  every  other  form  of  household 
heating,  abolished  distance  with  the  perfect  wire- 
less telephone  and  the  telephotograph.   .   .  . 

§  6. 
And  there  was  an  extraordinary  mental  resist- 
ance to  discovery  and  invention  for  at  least  a  hun- 
dred years  after  the  scientific  revolution  had  be- 
gun. Each  new  thing  made  its  way  into  practice 
against  a  scepticism  that  amounted  at  times  to  hos- 
tility. One  writer  upon  these  subjects  gives  a 
funny  little  domestic  conversation  that  happened, 

27 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

he  says,  In  the  year  1898,  within  ten  years,  that  is 
to  say,  of  the  time  when  the  first  aviators  were 
fairly  on  the  wing.  He  tells  us  how  he  sat  at 
his  desk  in  his  study  and  conversed  with  his  little 
boy. 

His  little  boy  was  in  profound  trouble.  He  felt 
he  had  to  speak  very  seriously  to  his  father,  and, 
as  he  was  a  kindly  little  boy,  he  did  not  want  to 
do  it  too  harshly. 

This  is  what  happened:  — 

"  I  wish.  Daddy,"  he  said,  coming  to  his  point, 
"  that  you  wouldn't  write  all  this  stuff  about  fly- 
ing.    The  chaps  rot  me." 

"  Yes?  "  said  his  father. 

"  And  old  Broomie,  the  Head  I  mean,  he  rots 
me.     Everybody  rots  me." 

"  But  there  is  going  to  be  flying  —  quite  soon." 

The  little  boy  was  too  well  bred  to  say  what  he 
thought  of  that.  "  Anyhow,"  he  said,  "  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  write  about  it." 

"  You'll  fly — lots  of  times  —  before  you  die," 
the  father  assured  him. 

The  little  boy  looked  unhappy. 

The  father  hesitated.  Then  he  opened  a 
drawer  and  took  out  a  blurred  and  under-devel- 
oped photograph.  "  Come  and  look  at  this,"  he 
said. 

The  little  boy  came  round  to  him.  The  photo- 
28 


PRELUDE 

graph  showed  a  stream  and  a  meadow  beyond 
and  some  trees,  and  in  the  air  a  black,  pencil-like 
object  with  flat  wings  on  either  side  of  it.  It  was 
the  first  record  of  the  first  apparatus  heavier  than 
air  that  ever  maintained  itself  in  the  air  by  me- 
chanical force.  Across  the  margin  was  written : 
"  Here  we  go  up,  up,  up  —  from  S.  P.  Langley, 
Smithsonian  Institute,  Washington." 

The  father  watched  the  effect  of  this  reassuring 
document  upon  his  son.      "  Well?  "  he  said. 

"  That,"  said  the  schoolboy  after  reflection,  "  is 
only  a  model." 

"  Model  to-day,  man  to-morrow." 

The  boy  seemed  divided  in  his  allegiance. 
Then  he  decided  for  what  he  believed  quite  firmly 
to  be  omniscience.  "  But  old  Broomie,"  he  said, 
"  he  told  all  the  boys  in  his  class  only  yesterday, 
'  No  man  will  ever  fly.'  No  one,  he  says,  who 
has  ever  shot  grouse  or  pheasants  on  the  wing 
would  ever  believe  anything  of  the  sort.   .   .   ." 

Yet  that  boy  lived  to  fly  across  the  Atlantic  and 
edit  his  father's  reminiscences. 

§   7- 
At  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century,  as  a  mul- 
titude of  passages  in  the  literature  of  that  time  wit- 
ness, it  was  thought  that  the  fact  that  man  had  at 
last  had  successful   and   profitable  dealings  with 

29 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

the  steam  that  scalded  him  and  the  electricity  that 
flashed  and  banged  about  the  sky  at  him,  was  an 
amazing  and  perhaps  a  culminating  exercise  of  his 
intelligence  and  his  intellectual  courage.  The  air 
of  "  Nunc  Dimittis  "  sounds  in  some  of  these  writ- 
ings. "  The  great  things  are  discovered,"  wrote 
Gerald  Brown  in  his  summary  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  "  For  us  there  remains  little  but  the 
working  out  of  detail."  The  spirit  of  the  seeker 
was  still  rare  in  the  world;  education  was  un- 
skilled, unstimulating,  scholarly  and  but  little  val- 
ued, and  few  people  even  then  could  have  realised 
that  Science  was  still  but  the  flimsiest  of  trial 
sketches  and  discovery  scarcely  beginning.  No 
one  seems  to  have  been  afraid  of  science  and  its 
possibilities.  Yet  now,  where  there  had  been  but 
a  score  or  so  of  seekers,  there  were  many  thou- 
sands, and  for  one  needle  of  speculation  that  had 
been  probing  the  curtain  of  appearances  in  1800, 
there  were  now  hundreds.  And  already  Chem- 
istry, which  had  been  content  with  her  atoms  and 
molecules  for  the  better  part  of  a  century,  was 
preparing  herself  for  that  vast  next  stride  that  was 
to  revolutionise  the  whole  life  of  man  from  top 
to  bottom. 

One  realises  how  crude  was  the  science  of  that 
time  when  one  considers  the  case  of  the  composi- 
tion of  air.     This  was  determined  by  that  strange 

30 


PRELUDE 

genius  and  recluse,  that  man  of  mystery,  that  dis- 
embowelled intelligence,  Henry  Cavendish,  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  So  far 
as  he  was  concerned,  the  work  was  admirably  done. 
He  separated  all  the  known  ingredients  of  air  with 
a  precision  altogether  remarkable;  he  even  put  it 
upon  record  that  he  had  some  doubt  about  the 
purity  of  the  nitrogen.  For  more  than  a  hundred 
years  his  determination  was  repeated  by  chemists 
all  the  world  over,  his  apparatus  was  treasured 
in  London,  he  became,  as  they  used  to  say, 
"  classic,"  and  always,  at  every  one  of  the  innu- 
merable repetitions  of  his  experiment,  that  sly  ele- 
ment argon  was  hiding  among  the  nitrogen  (and 
with  a  little  helium  and  traces  of  other  substances, 
and  indeed  all  the  hints  that  might  have  led  to 
the  new  departures  of  the  twentieth-century  chem- 
istry), and  every  time  it  slipped  unobserved 
through  the  professorial  fingers  that  repeated  his 
procedure. 

Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  with  this  wide  margin  of 
inaccuracy,  that  up  to  the  very  dawn  of  the  twenti- 
eth century  scientific  discovery  was  still  rather  a 
procession  of  happy  accidents  than  an  orderly  con- 
quest of  Nature? 

Yet  the  spirit  of  seeking  was  spreading  steadily 
through  the  world.  Even  the  schoolmaster  could 
not  check  it.     For  the  mere  handful  who  grew  up 

31 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

to  feel  wonder  and  curiosity  about  the  secrets  of 
nature  in  the  nineteenth  century,  there  were  now 
at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  myriads  es- 
caping from  the  limitations  of  intellectual  rou- 
tine and  the  habitual  life,  in  Europe,  in  America, 
North  and  South,  in  Japan,  in  China,  and  all 
about  the  world. 

It  was  in  19 lo  that  the  parents  of  young  Hol- 
sten,  who  was  to  be  called  by  a  whole  generation 
of  scientific  men,  "  the  greatest  of  European  chem- 
ists," were  staying  in  a  villa  near  Santo  Domenico 
between  Fiesole  and  Florence.  He  was  then  only 
fifteen,  but  he  was  already  distinguished  as  a 
mathematician  and  possessed  by  a  savage  appe- 
tite to  understand.  He  had  been  particularly  at- 
tracted by  the  mystery  of  phosphorescence  and  its 
apparent  unrelatedness  to  every  other  source  of 
light.  He  was  to  tell  afterwards  in  his  reminis- 
cences how  he  watched  the  fireflies  drifting  and 
glowing  among  the  dark  trees  In  the  garden  of  the 
villa  under  the  warm  blue  night  sky  of  Italy;  how 
he  caught  and  kept  them  in  cages,  dissected  them, 
first  studying  the  general  anatomy  of  insects  very 
elaborately,  and  how  he  began  to  experiment  with 
the  effect  of  various  gases  and  varying  temperature 
upon  their  light.  Then  the  chance  present  of  a 
little  scientific  toy  invented  by  Sir  William 
Crookes,  a  toy  called  the  spinthariscope,  on  which 

32 


PRELUDE 

radium  particles  impinge  upon  sulphide  of  zinc 
and  make  it  luminous,  induced  him  to  associate  the 
two  sets  of  phenomena.  It  was  a  happy  associa- 
tion for  his  inquiries.  It  was  a  rare  and  fortunate 
thing,  too,  that  anyone  with  the  mathematical  gift 
should  have  been  taken  by  these  curiosities. 

§   8. 

And  while  the  boy  Holsten  was  mooning  over 
his  fireflies  at  Fiesole,  a  certain  professor  of  phys- 
ics named  Rufus  was  giving  a  course  of  afternoon 
lectures  upon  Radium  and  Radio-activity  In  Edin- 
burgh. They  were  lectures  that  had  attracted  a 
very  considerable  amount  of  attention.  He  gave 
them  In  a  small  lecture-theatre  that  had  become 
more  and  more  congested  as  his  course  proceeded. 
At  his  concluding  discussion  it  was  crowded  right 
up  to  the  ceiling  at  the  back,  and  there  people 
were  standing,  standing  without  any  sense  of  fa- 
tigue, so  fascinating  did  they  find  his  suggestions. 
One  youngster  in  particular,  a  chuckle-headed, 
scrub-haired  lad  from  the  Highlands,  sat  hugging 
his  knee  with  great  sand-red  hands  and  drinking 
in  every  word,  eyes  aglow,  cheeks  flushed  and  ears 
burning. 

"  And  so,"  said  the  professor,  "  we  see  that 
this  Radium  which  seemed  at  first  a  fantastic  ex- 
ception, a  mad  inversion  of  all  that  was  most  es- 

33 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

tabllshed  and  fundamental  in  the  constitution  of 
matter,  is  really  at  one  with  the  rest  of  the  ele- 
ments. It  does  noticeably  and  forcibly  what  prob- 
ably all  the  other  elements  are  doing  with  an  Im- 
perceptible slowTiess.  It  is  like  the  single  voice 
crying  aloud  that  betrays  the  silent  breathing  mul- 
titude in  the  darkness.  Radium  is  an  element 
that  is  breaking  up  and  flying  to  pieces.  But  per- 
haps all  elements  are  doing  that  at  less  per- 
ceptible rates.  Uranium  certainly  is ;  thorium  — 
the  stuff  of  this  incandescent  gas  mantle  — 
certainly  is;  actinium.  I  feel  that  we  are  but  be- 
ginning the  list.  And  we  know  now  that  the 
atom,  that  once  we  thought  hard  and  impen- 
etrable, and  indivisible  and  final  and  —  lifeless  — 
lifeless,  is  really  a  reservoir  of  immense  en- 
ergy. That  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  about 
all  this  work.  A  little  while  ago  we  thought 
of  the  atoms  as  we  thought  of  bricks,  as  solid 
building  material,  as  substantial  matter,  as  unit 
masses  of  lifeless  stuff,  and  behold!  these  bricks 
are  boxes,  treasure  boxes,  boxes  full  of  the 
intensest  force.  This  little  bottle  contains  about 
a  pint  of  uranium  oxide;  that  is  to  say  about  four- 
teen ounces  of  the  element  uranium.  It  is  worth 
about  a  pound.  And  in  this  bottle,  ladles  and  gen- 
tlemen, in  the  atoms  In  this  bottle  there  slumbers 
at  least  as  much  energy  as  we  could  get  by  burn- 

34 


PRELUDE 

ing  a  hundred  and  sixty  tons  of  coal.  If  at  a  word 
In  one  instant  I  could  suddenly  release  that  energy 
here  and  now,  it  would  blow  us  and  everything 
about  us  to  fragments;  If  I  could  turn  It  Into  the 
machinery  that  lights  this  city,  It  could  keep  Edin- 
burgh brightly  lit  for  a  week.  But  at  present  no 
man  knows,  no  man  has  an  Inkling  of  how  this  lit- 
tle lump  of  stuff  can  be  made  to  hasten  the  release 
of  its  store.  It  does  release  it,  as  a  burn  trickles. 
Slowly  the  uranium  changes  into  radium,  the  ra- 
dium changes  into  a  gas  called  the  radium  emana- 
tion, and  that  again  to  what  we  call  radium  A,  and 
so  the  process  goes  on,  giving  out  energy  at  every 
stage,  until  at  last  we  reach  the  last  stage  of  all, 
which  is,  so  far  as  we  can  tell  at  present,  lead. 
But  we  cannot  hasten  it." 

*'  I  take  ye,  man,"  whispered  the  chuckle- 
headed  lad,  with  his  red  hands  tightening  like  a 
vice  upon  his  knee.  "  I  take  ye,  man.  Go  on  I 
Oh,  go  on !  " 

The  professor  went  on  after  a  little  pause, 
"Why  is  the  change  gradual?"  he  asked. 
"  Why  does  only  a  minute  fraction  of  the  radium 
disintegrate  in  any  particular  second?  Why  does 
It  dole  Itself  out  so  slowly  and  so  exactly?  Why 
does  not  all  the  uranium  change  to  radium  and 
all  the  radium  change  to  the  next  lowest  thing 
at  once  ?     Why  this  decay  by  driblets ;  why  not  a 

35 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

decay  en  masse?  .  .  .     Suppose  presently  we  find 
it  is  possible  to  quicken  that  decay?  " 

The  chuckle-headed  lad  nodded  rapidly.  The 
wonderful,  Inevitable  idea  was  coming.  He  drew 
his  knee  up  towards  his  chin  and  swayed  in  his 
seat  with  excitement,  "Why  not?"  he  echoed, 
"why  not?" 

The  professor  lifted  his  forefinger. 

"  Given  that  knowledge,"  he  said,  "  mark  what 
we  should  be  able  to  do !  We  should  not  only  be 
able  to  use  this  uranium  and  thorium.  Not  only 
should  we  have  a  source  of  power  so  potent  that  a 
man  might  carry  in  his  hand  the  energy  to  light  a 
city  for  a  year,  fight  a  fleet  of  battleships  or  drive 
one  of  our  giant  liners  across  the  Adantic;  but  we 
should  also  have  a  clue  that  would  enable  us  at 
last  to  quicken  the  process  of  disintegration  in  all 
the  other  elements,  where  decay  is  still  so  slow  as 
to  escape  our  finest  measurements.  Every  scrap 
of  solid  matter  in  the  world  would  become  an 
available  reservoir  of  concentrated  force.  Do 
you  realise,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  what  these 
things  would  mean  for  us?  " 

The  scrub  head  nodded.  "  Oh,  go  on !  Go 
on!" 

"  It  would  mean  a  change  in  human  conditions 
that  I  can  only  compare  to  the  discovery  of  fire, 
that  first  discovery  that  lifted  man  above  the  brute. 

36 


PRELUDE 

We  stand  to-day  towards  radio-activity  exactly 
as  our  ancestor  stood  towards  fire  before  he  had 
learnt  to  make  it.  He  knew  it  then  only  as  a 
strange  thing  utterly  beyond  his  control,  a  flare  on 
the  crest  of  the  volcano,  a  red  destruction  that 
poured  through  the  forest.  So  it  is  that  we  know 
radio-activity  to-day.  This  —  this  is  the  dawn  of 
a  new  day  in  human  living.  At  the  climax  of  that 
civilisation  which  had  its  beginning  in  the  ham- 
mered flint  and  the  fire-stick  of  the  savage,  just 
when  it  is  becoming  apparent  that  our  ever-increas- 
ing needs  cannot  be  borne  indefinitely  by  our  pres- 
ent sources  of  energy,  we  discover  suddenly  the 
possibility  of  an  entirely  new  civilisation.  The 
energy  we  need  for  our  very  existence,  and  with 
which  Nature  supplies  us  still  so  grudgingly,  is  in 
reality  locked  up  in  inconceivable  quantities  all 
about  us.  We  cannot  pick  that  lock  at  present, 
but " 

He  paused.  His  voice  sank  so  that  everybody 
strained  a  little  to  hear  him. 

" we  will." 

He  put  up  that  lean  finger  again,  his  solitary 
gesture. 

"  And  then,"  he  said.  .  .  . 

"  Then  that  perpetual  struggle  for  existence, 
that  perpetual  struggle  to  live  on  the  bare  surplus 
of  Nature's  energies  will  cease  to  be  the  lot  of 

37 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Ma,n.  Man  will  step  from  the  pinnacle  of  this 
civilisation  to  the  beginning  of  the  next.  I  have 
no  eloquence,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  express  the 
vision  of  man's  material  destiny  that  opens  out 
before  me.  I  see  the  desert  continents  trans- 
formed, the  poles  no  longer  wildernesses  of  ice, 
the  whole  world  once  more  Eden.  I  see  the 
power  of  man  reach  out  among  the  stars.   .   .   ." 

He  stopped  abruptly  with  a  catching  of  the 
breath  that  many  an  actor  or  orator  might  have 
envied  .  .  . 

The  lecture  was  over,  the  audience  hung  silent 
for  a  few  seconds,  sighed,  became  audible,  stirred, 
fluttered,  prepared  for  dispersal.  More  light 
was  turned  on,  and  what  had  been  a  dim  mass  of 
figures  became  a  bright  confusion  of  movement. 
Some  of  the  people  signalled  to  friends,  some 
crowded  down  towards  the  platform  to  examine 
the  lecturer's  apparatus  and  make  notes  of  his  dia- 
grams. But  the  chuckle-headed  lad  with  the 
scrub  hair  wanted  no  such  detailed  frittering  away 
of  the  thoughts  that  had  inspired  him.  He 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  them;  he  elbowed  his  way 
out  almost  fiercely,  he  made  himself  as  angular 
and  bony  as  a  cow,  fearing  lest  someone  should 
speak  to  him,  lest  someone  should  invade  his  glow- 
ing sphere  of  enthusiasm. 

He  went  through  the  streets  with  a  rapt  face, 

38 


PRELUDE 

like  a  saint  who  sees  visions.  He  had  arms  dis- 
proportionately long  and  ridiculous  big  feet. 

He  must  get  alone,  get  somewhere  high  out  of 
all  this  crowding  of  commonness  of  everyday  life. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  top  of  Arthur's  Seat, 
and  there  he  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the  golden 
evening  sunshine,  still,  except  that  ever  and  again 
he  whispered  to  himself  some  precious  phrase  that 
had  stuck  in  his  mind. 

"  If,"  he  whispered,  "  if  only  we  could  pick 
that  lock.   .   .  ." 

The  sun  was  sinking  over  the  distant  hills. 
Already  it  was  shorn  of  its  beams,  a  globe  of 
ruddy  gold,  hanging  over  the  great  banks  of  cloud 
that  would  presently  engulf  it. 

"  Eh  !  "  said  the  youngster.     "  Eh !  " 

He  seemed  to  wake  up  at  last  out  of  his  en- 
trancement,  and  the  red  sun  was  there  before  his 
eyes.  He  stared  at  it,  at  first  without  intelligence 
and  then  with  a  gathering  recognition.  Into  his 
mind  came  a  strange  echo  of  that  ancestral  fancy, 
that  fancy  of  a  Stone  Age  savage,  dead  and  scat- 
tered bones  among  the  drift  two  hundred  thousand 
years  ago. 

"  Ye  auld  thing,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  were 
shining  and  he  made  a  kind  of  grabbing  gesture 
with  his  hand;  "ye  auld  red  thing.  .  .  .  We'll 
have  ye  yet.'^ 

39 


CHAPTER  THE  FIRST 
The  New  Source  of  Energy 

The  problem  which  was  already  being  mooted 
by  such  scientific  men  as  Ramsay,  Rutherford, 
and  Soddy,  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  twentieth 
century,  the  problem  of  inducing  radio-activity 
in  the  heavier  elements  and  so  tapping  the  internal 
energy  of  atoms,  was  solved  by  a  wonderful  com- 
bination of  induction,  intuition  and  luck  by  Hol- 
sten  so  soon  as  the  year  1933.  From  the  first 
detection  of  radio-activity  to  its  first  subjugation 
to  human  purpose  measured  little  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  For  twenty  years  after 
that,  indeed,  minor  diflliculties  prevented  any  strik- 
ing practical  application  of  his  success,  but  the 
essential  thing  was  done,  this  new  boundary  in  the 
march  of  human  progress  was  crossed,  in  that 
year.  He  set  up  atomic  disintegration  in  a  mi- 
nute particle  of  bismuth,  it  exploded  with  great 
violence  into  a  heavy  gas  of  extreme  radio-activ- 
ity, which  disintegrated  in  its  turn  In  the  course 
of  seven   days,    and   it  was   only   after   another 

40 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

year's  work  that  he  was  able  to  show  practically 
that  the  last  result  of  this  rapid  release  of  energy 
was  gold.  But  the  thing  was  done, —  at  the  cost 
of  a  blistered  chest  and  an  injured  finger,  and 
from  the  moment  when  the  invisible  speck  of  bis- 
muth flashed  into  riving  and  rending  energy,  Hol- 
sten  knew  that  he  had  opened  a  way  for  mankind, 
however  narrow  and  dark  it  might  still  be,  to 
worlds  of  limitless  power.  He  recorded  as  much 
in  the  strange  diary  biography  he  left  the  world, 
a  diary  that  was  up  to  that  particular  moment  a 
mass  of  speculations  and  calculations,  and  which 
suddenly  became  for  a  space  an  amazingly  minute 
and  human  record  of  sensations  and  emotions  that 
all  humanity  might  understand. 

He  gives,  in  broken  phrases  and  often  single 
words,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  vividly  for  that, 
a  record  of  the  twenty-four  hours  following  the 
demonstration  of  the  correctness  of  his  intricate 
tracery  of  computations  and  guesses.  "  I  thought 
I  should  not  sleep,"  he  writes  —  the  words  he 
omitted  are  supplied  in  brackets — (on  account 
of)  "pain  in  (the)  hand  and  chest  and  (the 
wonder  of)  what  I  had  done.  .  .  .  Slept  like  a 
child." 

He  felt  strange  and  disconcerted  the  next  morn- 
ing; he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  was  living  alone  in 
apartments  in  Bloomsbury,  and  he  decided  to  go 

41 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

up  to  Hampstead  Heath,  which  he  had  known 
when  he  was  a  little  boy  as  a  breezy  playground. 
He  went  up  by  the  underground  tube  that  was 
then  the  recognised  means  of  travel  from  one  part 
of  London  to  another,  and  walked  up  Heath 
Street  from  the  tube  station  to  the  open  heath. 
He  found  it  a  gully  of  planks  and  scaffoldings  be- 
tween the  hoardings  of  housewreckers.  The 
spirit  of  the  times  had  seized  upon  that  narrow, 
steep  and  winding  thoroughfare,  and  was  in  the 
act  of  making  it  commodious  and  interesting  ac- 
cording to  the  remarkable  ideals  of  Neo-Georgian 
aestheticism.  Such  is  the  illogical  quality  of  hu- 
manity that  Holsten,  fresh  from  work  that  was 
like  a  petard  under  the  seat  of  the  current  civilisa- 
tion, saw  these  changes  with  regret.  He  had 
come  up  Heath  Street  perhaps  a  thousand  times, 
had  known  the  windows  of  all  the  little  shops, 
spent  .hours  in  the  vanished  cinematograph  thea- 
tre, and  marvelled  at  the  high-flung  early  Geor- 
gian houses  upon  the  westward  bank  of  that  old 
gully  of  a  thoroughfare;  he  felt  strange  with  all 
these  familiar  things  gone.  He  escaped  at  last 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  from  this  choked  alley  of 
trenches  and  holes  and  cranes,  and  emerged  upon 
the  old  familiar  scene  about  the  White  Stone 
Pond.  That  at  least  was  very  much  as  it  used 
to  be. 

42 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

There  were  still  the  fine  old  red-brick  houses  to 
left  and  right  of  him;  the  reservoir  had  been  Im- 
proved by  a  portico  of  marble,  the  white-fronted 
inn  with  the  clustering  flowers  above  its  portico 
still  stood  out  at  the  angle  of  the  ways,  and  the 
blue  view  to  Harrow  Hill  and  Harrow  spire,  a 
view  of  hills  and  trees  and  shining  waters  and 
wind-driven  cloud-shadows,  was  like  the  opening 
of  a  great  window  to  the  ascending  Londoner. 
All  that  was  very  reassuring.  There  were  the 
same  strolling  crowd,  the  same  perpetual  miracle 
of  motors  dodging  through  It  harmlessly,  escaping 
headlong  Into  the  country  from  the  Sabbatical 
stuffiness  behind  and  below  them.  There  was  a 
band  still,  a  women's  suffrage  meeting  —  for  the 
suffrage  women  had  won  their  way  back  to  the 
tolerance,  a  trifle  derisive,  of  the  populace  again 
—  Socialist  orators,  politicians,  a  band,  and  the 
same  wild  uproar  of  dogs,  frantic  with  the  glad- 
ness of  their  one  blessed  weekly  release  from  the 
back-yard  and  the  chain.  And  away  along  the 
road  to  the  "  Spaniards  "  strolled  a  vast  multitude, 
saying  as  ever  that  the  view  of  London  was  ex- 
ceptionally clear  that  day. 

Young  Holsten's  face  was  white.  He  walked 
with  that  uneasy  affectation  of  ease  that  marks 
an  overstrained  nervous  system  and  an  under-ex- 
ercised body.     He  hesitated  at  the  White  Stone 

43 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Pond  whether  to  go  to  the  left  of  it  or  the  right, 
and  again  at  the  fork  of  the  roads.  He  kept 
shifting  his  stick  in  his  hand,  and  every  now  and 
then  he  would  get  in  the  way  of  people  on  the 
footpath  or  be  jostled  by  them  because  of  the  un- 
certainty of  his  movements.  He  felt,  he  con- 
fesses, "  inadequate  to  ordinary  existence."  He 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  something  inhuman  and 
mischievous.  All  the  people  about  him  looked 
fairly  prosperous,  fairly  happy,  fairly  well  adapted 
to  the  lives  they  had  to  lead, —  a  week  of  work 
and  a  Sunday  of  best  clothes  and  mild  promenad- 
ing —  and  he  had  launched  something  that  would 
disorganise  the  entire  fabric  that  held  their  con- 
tentments and  ambitions  and  satisfactions  to- 
gether. "  Felt  like  an  imbecile  who  has  presented 
a  box  of  loaded  revolvers  to  a  Creche,"  he  notes. 
He  met  a  man  named  Lawson,  an  old  school- 
fellow, of  whom  history  now  knows  only  that  he 
was  red-faced  and  had  a  terrier.  He  and  Hol- 
sten  walked  together,  and  Holsten  was  sufficiently 
pale  and  jumpy  for  Lawson  to  tell  him  he  over- 
worked and  needed  a  holiday.  They  sat  down 
at  a  little  table  outside  the  County  Council  house 
of  Golders  Hill  Park  and  sent  one  of  the  waiters 
to  the  "  Bull  and  Bush  "  for  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  beer,  no  doubt  at  Lawson's  suggestion.  The 
beer  warmed  Holsten's  rather  dehumanised  sys- 

44 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

tern.  He  began  to  tell  Lawson  as  clearly  as  he 
could  to  what  his  great  discovery  amounted. 
Lawson  feigned  attention,  but  indeed  he  had 
neither  the  knowledge  nor  the  Imagination  to  un- 
derstand. "  In  the  end,  before  many  years  are 
out,  this  must  eventually  change  war,  transit, 
lighting,  building,  and  every  sort  of  manufacture, 
even  agriculture,  every  material  human  con- 
cern   " 

Then  Holsten  stopped  short.  Lawson  had 
leapt  to  his  feet.  "  Damn  that  dog!  "  cried  Law- 
son.  "  Look  at  it  now.  Hi !  Here  !  Phewoo- 
phewoo-pheivoo!  Come  here,  Bobs!  Come 
here!" 

The  young  scientific  man  with  his  bandaged 
hand  sat  at  the  green  table,  too  tired  to  convey 
the  wonder  of  the  thing  he  had  sought  so  long,  his 
friend  whistled  and  bawled  for  his  dog,  and  the 
Sunday  people  drifted  about  them  through  the 
spring  sunshine.  For  a  moment  or  so  Holsten 
stared  at  Lawson  in  astonishment,  for  he  had 
been  too  intent  upon  what  he  had  been  saying  to 
realise  how  little  Lawson  had  attended. 

Then  he  remarked,  ''  Well!  "  and  smiled  faintly 
and  finished  the  tankard  of  beer  before  him. 

Lawson  sat  down  again.  "  One  must  look 
after  one's  dog,"  he  said,  with  a  note  of  apology. 
*'  What  was  it  you  were  telling  me?  " 

45 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 


In  the  evening  Holsten  went  out  again.  He 
walked  to  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral  and  stood  for  a 
time  near  the  door  listening  to  the  evening  serv- 
ice. The  candles  upon  the  altar  reminded  him  in 
some  odd  way  of  the  fireflies  at  Flesole.  Then 
he  walked  back  through  the  evening  lights  to 
Westminster.  He  was  oppressed,  he  was  indeed 
scared,  by  his  sense  of  the  immense  consequences 
of  his  discovery.  He  had  a  vague  idea  that  night 
that  he  ought  not  to  publish  his  results,  that  they 
were  premature,  that  some  secret  association  of 
wise  men  should  take  care  of  his  work  and  hand 
it  on  from  generation  to  generation  until  the 
world  was  riper  for  its  practical  application.  He 
felt  that  nobody  In  all  the  thousands  of  people  he 
passed  had  really  awakened  to  the  fact  of  change; 
they  trusted  the  world  for  what  it  was,  not  to  alter 
too  rapidly,  to  respect  their  trusts,  their  assur- 
ances, their  habits,  their  little  accustomed  traffics 
and  hard-won  positions. 

He  went  into  those  little  gardens  beneath 
the  overhanging,  brightly-lit  masses  of  the  Savoy 
Hotel  and  the  Hotel  Cecil.  He  sat  down  on  a 
seat  and  became  aware  of  the  talk  of  the  two  peo- 
ple next  to  him.  It  was  the  talk  of  a  young 
couple  evidently  on  the  eve  of  marriage.     The 

46 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

man  was  congratulating  himself  on  having  regular 
employment  at  last.  "  They  like  me,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  like  the  job.  If  I  work  up  —  In'r  dozen 
years  or  so  I  ought  to  be  gettin'  somethin'  pretty 
comfortable.  That's  the  plain  sense  of  It,  Hetty. 
There  ain't  no  reason  whatsoever  why  we 
shouldn't  get  along  very  decently  —  very  de- 
cently, Indeed." 

The  desire  for  little  successes  amidst  condi- 
tions securely  fixed!  So  It  struck  upon  Holsten's 
mind.  He  added  In  his  diary:  "  I  had  a  sense 
of  all  this  globe  as  that.   .   .   ." 

By  that  phrase  he  meant  a  kind  of  clairvoyant 
vision  of  this  populated  world  as  a  whole,  of  all 
Its  cities  and  towns  and  villages.  Its  high  roads 
and  the  inns  beside  them,  Its  gardens  and  farms 
and  upland  pastures.  Its  boatmen  and  sailors.  Its 
ships  coming  along  the  great  circles  of  the  ocean, 
its  time-tables  and  appointments  and  payments 
and  dues,  as  It  were  one  unified  and  unprogresslve 
spectacle.  Sometimes  such  visions  came  to  him; 
his  mind,  accustomed  to  great  generalisations  and 
yet  acutely  sensitive  to  detail,  saw  things  far  more 
comprehensively  than  the  minds  of  most  of  his 
contemporaries.  Usually  the  teeming  sphere 
moved  on  to  its  predestined  ends  and  circled  with 
a  stately  swiftness  on  its  path  about  the  sun.  Usu- 
ally it  was  all  a  living  progress  that  altered  under 

47 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

his  regard.  But  now  fatigue  a  little  deadened  him 
to  that  incessancy  of  Hfe,  it  seemed  just  now  an 
eternal  circling.  He  lapsed  to  the  commoner  per- 
suasion of  the  great  fixities  and  recurrencies  of 
the  human  routine.  The  remoter  past  of  wan- 
dering savagery,  the  inevitable  changes  of  to-mor- 
row were  veiled,  and  he  saw  only  day  and  night, 
seed-time  and  harvest,  loving  and  begetting,  births 
and  deaths,  walks  in  the  summer  sunlight  and  tales 
by  the  winter  fireside,  the  ancient  sequence  of 
hope  and  acts  and  age  perennially  renewed,  eddy- 
ing on  for  ever  and  ever, —  save  that  now  the 
impious  hand  of  research  was  raised  to  overthrow 
this  drowsy,  gently  humming,  habitual,  sunlit  spin- 
ning-top of  man's  existence.   .   .   . 

For  a  time  he  forgot  wars  and  crimes  and  hates 
and  persecutions,  famine  and  pestilence,  the  cru- 
elties of  beasts,  weariness  and  the  bitter  wind, 
failure  and  insufficiency  and  retrocession.  He 
saw  all  mankind  in  terms  of  the  humble  Sunday 
couple  upon  the  seat  beside  him,  who  schemed 
their  inglorious  outlook  and  improbable  content- 
ments. "  I  had  a  sense  of  all  this  globe  as 
that." 

His  intelligence  struggled  against  this  mood 
and  struggled  for  a  time  in  vain.  He  reassured 
himself  against  the  invasion  of  this  disconcerting 
idea  that  he  was  something  strange  and  inhuman, 

48 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

a  loose  wanderer  from  the  flock  returning  with 
evil  gifts  from  his  sustained  unnatural  excursions 
amidst  the  darknesses  and  phosphorescences  be- 
neath the  fair  surfaces  of  life.  Man  had  not 
been  always  thus;  the  instincts  and  desires  of  the 
little  home,  the  little  plot,  was  not  all  his  nature; 
also  he  was  an  adventurer,  an  experimenter,  an 
unresting  curiosity,  an  insatiable  desire.  For  a 
few  thousand  generations,  indeed,  he  had  tilled 
the  earth  and  followed  the  seasons,  saying  his 
prayers,  grinding  his  corn  and  trampling  the 
October  winepress,  yet  not  for  so  long  but  that  he 
was  still  full  of  restless  stirrings.   .  .  . 

"  If  there  have  been  home  and  routine  and  the 
field,"  thought  Holsten,  "  there  have  also  been 
wonder  and  the  sea." 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  up  over  the 
back  of  the  seat  at  the  great  hotels  above  him, 
full  of  softly  shaded  lights  and  the  glow  and 
colour  and  stir  of  feasting.  Might  his  gift  to 
mankind  mean  simply  more  of  that?  .  .   . 

He  got  up  and  walked  out  of  the  garden, 
surveyed  a  passing  tramcar,  laden  with  warm  light 
against  the  deep  blues  of  evening,  dripping  and 
trailing  long  skirts  of  shining  reflection;  he 
crossed  the  Embankment  and  stood  for  a  time 
watching  the  dark  river  and  turning  ever  and 
again  to  the  lit  buildings  and  bridges.     His  mind 

49 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

began  to  scheme  conceivable  replacements  of  all 
those  clustering  arrangements.   .   .   . 

"  It  has  begun,"  he  writes  in  the  diary  In  which 
these  things  are  recorded.  "  It  is  not  for  me 
to  reach  out  to  consequences  I  cannot  foresee. 
I  am  a  part,  not  a  whole;  I  am  a  little  instrument 
in  the  armoury  of  Change.  If  I  were  to  burn 
all  these  papers,  before  a  score  of  years  had 
passed  some  other  man  would  be  doing  this.   .   .   ." 

§  3- 
Holsten,  before  he  died,  was  destined  to  see 
atomic  energy  dominating  every  other  source  of 
power,  but  for  some  years  yet  a  vast  network  of 
difficulties  in  detail  and  application  kept  the  new 
discovery  from  any  effective  invasion  of  ordinary 
life.  The  path  from  the  laboratory  to  the  work- 
shop is  sometimes  a  tortuous  one;  electro-mag- 
netic radiations  were  known  and  demonstrated 
for  twenty  years  before  Marconi  made  them 
practically  available,  and  in  the  same  way  it  was 
twenty  years  before  induced  radio-activity  could 
be  brought  to  practical  utilisation.  The  thing, 
of  course,  was  discussed  very  much,  more  per- 
haps at  the  time  of  its  discovery  than  during  the 
interval  of  technical  adaption,  but  with  very  little 
realisation  of  the  huge  economic  revolution  that 
impended.     \ATiat  chiefly  impressed  the  journal- 

50 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

ists  of  1933  was  the  production  of  gold  from 
bismuth  and  the  realisation,  albeit  upon  unprof- 
itable lines,  of  the  alchemist's  dreams;  there  was 
a  considerable  amount  of  discussion  and  expec- 
tation in  that  more  intelligent  section  of  the 
educated  publics  of  the  various  civilised  countries 
which  followed  scientific  development;  but  for  the 
most  part  the  world  went  about  its  business  —  as 
the  inhabitants  of  those  Swiss  villages  which 
live  under  the  perpetual  threat  of  overhanging 
rocks  and  mountains  go  about  their  business  — 
just  as  though  the  possible  was  impossible,  as 
though  the  inevitable  was  postponed  for  ever  be- 
cause It  was  delayed. 

It  was  in  1953  that  the  first  Holsten-Roberts 
engine  brought  Induced  radio-activity  Into  the 
sphere  of  Industrial  production,  and  its  first  gen- 
eral use  was  to  replace  the  steam-engine  In 
electrical  generating  stations.  Hard  upon  the 
appearance  of  this  came  the  Dass-Tata  engine 
—  the  Invention  of  two  among  the  brilliant 
galaxy  of  Bengali  Inventors  the  modernisation 
of  Indian  thought  was  producing  at  this 
time  —  which  was  used  chiefly  for  automo- 
biles, aeroplanes,  water-planes  and  such-like 
mobile  purposes.  The  American  Kemp  engine, 
differing  widely  in  principle  but  equally  practic- 
able,   and   the    Krupp-Erlanger  came  hard  upon 

51 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

the  heels  of  this,  and  by  the  autumn  of  1954  a 
gigantic  replacement  of  industrial  methods  and 
machinery  was  in  progress  all  about  the  habitable 
globe.  Small  wonder  was  this  when  the  cost  even 
of  these  earliest  and  clumsiest  of  atomic  engines  is 
compared  with  that  of  the  power  they  superseded. 
Allowing  for  lubrication,  the  Dass-Tata  engine, 
once  it  was  started,  cost  a  penny  to  run  thirty- 
seven  miles,  and  added  only  nine  and  a  quarter 
pounds  to  the  weight  of  the  carriage  it  drove. 
It  made  the  heavy  alcohol-driven  automobile  of 
the  time  ridiculous  In  appearance  as  well  as  pre- 
posterously costly.  For  many  years  the  price  of 
coal  and  every  form  of  liquid  fuel  had  been 
clambering  to  levels  that  made  even  the  revival 
of  the  draft-horse  seem  a  practicable  possibility, 
and  now,  with  the  abrupt  relaxation  of  this 
stringency,  the  change  in  appearance  of  the  traffic 
upon  the  world's  roads  was  instantaneous.  In 
three  years  the  frightful  armoured  monsters  that 
had  hooted  and  smoked  and  thundered  about  the 
world  for  four  awful  decades  were  swept  away 
to  the  dealers  in  old  metal,  and  the  highways 
thronged  with  light  and  clean  and  shimmering 
shapes  of  silvered  steel.  At  the  same  time  a 
new  impetus  was  given  to  aviation  by  the  rela- 
tively enormous  power  for  weight  of  the  atomic 
engine;  it  was  at  last  possible  to  add  Redmayne's 

52 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

Ingenious  helicopter  ascent  and  descent  engine  to 
the  vertical  propeller  that  had  hitherto  been  the 
sole  driving  force  of  the  aeroplane  without  over- 
weighing  the  machine,  and  men  found  themselves 
possessed  of  an  instrument  of  flight  that  could 
hover  or  ascend  or  descend  vertically  and  gently 
as  well  as  rush  wildly  through  the  air.  The  last 
dread  of  flying  vanished.  As  the  journalists  of 
the  time  phrased  It,  this  was  the  epoch  of  the 
Leap  into  the  Air.  The  new  atomic  aeroplane 
became  indeed  a  mania;  everyone  of  means  was 
frantic  to  possess  a  thing  so  controllable,  so  se- 
cure, and  so  free  from  the  dust  and  danger  of 
the  road,  and  In  France  alone  in  the  year  1943 
thirty  thousand  of  these  new  aeroplanes  were 
manufactured  and  licensed  and  soared  humming 
softly  Into  the  sky. 

And  with  an  equal  speed  atomic  engines  of 
various  types  invaded  industrialism.  The  rail- 
ways paid  enormous  premiums  for  priority  in 
the  delivery  of  atomic  traction  engines,  atomic 
smelting  was  embarked  upon  so  eagerly  as  to  lead 
to  a  number  of  disastrous  explosions  due  to  in- 
experienced handling  of  the  new  power,  and  the 
revolutionary  cheapening  of  both  materials  and 
electricity  made  the  entire  reconstruction  of 
domestic  buildings  a  matter  merely  dependent 
upon   a   reorganisation   of  the   methods    of   the 

53 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

builder  and  the  house  furnisher.  Viewed  from 
the  side  of  the  new  power  and  from  the  point 
of  view  of  those  who  financed  and  manufactured 
the  new  engines  and  material  it  required,  the  age 
of  the  Leap  into  the  Air  was  one  of  astonish- 
ing prosperity.  Patent-holding  companies  were 
presently  paying  dividends  of  five  or  six  hundred 
percent.,  and  enormous  fortunes  were  made  and 
fantastic  wages  earned  by  all  who  were  concerned 
in  the  new  developments.  This  prosperity  was 
not  a  little  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  in  both  the 
Dass-Tata  and  Holsten-Roberts  engines  one  of 
the  recoverable  waste  products  was  gold  —  the 
former  disintegrated  dust  of  bismuth  and  the  lat- 
ter dust  of  lead  —  and  that  this  new  supply  of 
gold  led  quite  naturally  to  a  rise  in  prices  through- 
out the  world. 

This  spectacle  of  feverish  enterprise  was  pro- 
ductivity, this  crowding  flight  of  happy  and  for- 
tunate rich  people  —  every  great  city  was  as  if  a 
crawling  ant-hill  had  suddenly  taken  wing  —  was 
the  bright  side  of  the  opening  phase  of  the  new 
epoch  in  human  history.  Beneath  that  brightness 
was  a  gathering  darkness,  a  deepening  dismay. 
If  there  was  a  vast  development  of  production, 
there  was  also  a  huge  destruction  of  values. 
These  glaring  factories  working  night  and  day, 
these  glittering  new  vehicles  swinging  noiselessly 

54 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

along  the  roads,  these  flights  of  dragon-flies  that 
swooped  and  soared  and  circled  in  the  air,  were 
indeed  no  more  than  the  brightnesses  of  lamps  and 
fires  that  gleam  out  when  the  world  sinks  towards 
twilight  and  the  night.  Between  these  high  lights 
accumulated  disaster,  social  catastrophe.  The 
coal  mines  were  manifestly  doomed  to  closure 
at  no  very  distant  date,  the  vast  amount  of  capital 
invested  in  oil  was  becoming  unsaleable,  millions 
of  coal-miners,  steel-workers  upon  the  old  lines, 
vast  swarms  of  unskilled  or  underskilled  labourers 
in  innumerable  occupations  were  being  flung  out 
of  employment  by  the  superior  efficiency  of  the 
new  machinery,  the  rapid  fall  in  the  cost  of  transit 
was  destroying  high  land  values  at  every  centre 
of  population,  the  value  of  existing  house  property 
had  become  problematical,  gold  was  undergoing 
headlong  depreciation,  all  the  securities  upon 
which  the  credit  of  the  world  rested  were  slipping 
and  sliding,  banks  were  tottering,  the  stock  ex- 
changes were  scenes  of  feverish  panic;  —  this  was 
the  reverse  of  the  spectacle,  these  were  the  black 
and  monstrous  under-consequences  of  the  Leap 
into  the  Air. 

There  is  a  story  of  a  demented  London  stock- 
broker running  out  Into  Threadneedle  Street  and 
tearing  off  his  clothes  as  he  ran.  "  The  Steel 
Trust  Is  scrapping  the  whole  of  Its  plant,"  he 

SS 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

shouted.  "  The  State  Railways  are  going  to 
scrap  all  their  engines.  Ever}i:hing's  going  to  be 
scrapped  —  everything.  Come  and  scrap  the 
Mint,  you  fellows,  come  and  scrap  the  Mint!  " 

In  the  year  1955  the  suicide  rate  for  the  United 
States  of  America  quadrupled  any  previous  re- 
cord. There  was  an  enormous  increase  also  in 
violent  crime  throughout  the  world.  The  thing 
had  come  upon  an  unprepared  humanity;  it  seemed 
as  though  human  society  was  to  be  smashed  by 
its  own  magnificent  gains. 

For  there  had  been  no  foresight  of  these  things. 
There  had  been  no  attempt  anywhere  even  to 
compute  the  probable  dislocations  this  flood  of 
inexpensive  energy  would  produce  in  human  af- 
fairs. The  world  in  these  days  was  not  really 
governed  at  all,  in  the  sense  in  which  government 
came  to  be  understood  in  subsequent  years. 
Government  was  a  treaty,  not  a  design;  it  was 
forensic,  conservative,  disputatious,  unseeing,  un- 
thinking, uncreative;  throughout  the  world,  except 
where  the  vestiges  of  absolutism  still  sheltered  the 
Court  favourite  and  the  trusted  servant,  it  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  predominant  caste  of  lawyers, 
who  had  an  enormous  advantage  in  being  the  only 
trained  caste.  Their  professional  education  and 
every  circumstance  in  the  manipulation  of  the 
fantastically   naive   electoral   methods  by  which 

56 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

they  clambered  to  power,  conspired  to  keep  them 
contemptuous  of  facts,  conscientiously  unimagi- 
native, alert  to  claim  and  seize  advantages,  and 
suspicious  of  every  generosity.  Government  was 
an  obstructive  business  of  energetic  factions, 
progress  went  on  outside  of  and  in  spite  of  public 
activities,  and  legislation  was  the  last  crippling 
recognition  of  needs  so  clamorous  and  imperative 
and  facts  so  aggressively  established  as  to  invade 
even  the  dingy  seclusions  of  the  judges  and 
threaten  the  very  existence  of  the  otherwise  in- 
attentive political  machine. 

The  world  was  so  little  governed  that  with 
the  very  coming  of  plenty,  in  the  full  tide  of  an 
incalculable  abundance,  when  everything  necessary 
to  satisfy  human  needs  and  everything  necessary 
to  realise  such  will  and  purpose  as  existed  then 
in  human  hearts  was  already  at  hand,  one  has 
still  to  tell  of  hardship,  famine,  anger,  confusion, 
conflict  and  Incoherent  suffering.  There  was  no 
scheme  for  the  distribution  of  this  vast  new  wealth 
that  had  come  at  last  within  the  reach  of  men; 
there  was  no  clear  conception  that  any  such  dis- 
tribution was  possible.  As  one  attempts  a  com- 
prehensive view  of  those  opening  years  of  the  new 
age,  as  one  measures  It  against  the  latent  achieve- 
ment that  later  years  have  demonstrated,  one  be- 
gins to  measure  the  blindness,  the  narrowness,  the 

57 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

insensate,  unimaginative  individualism  of  the  pre- 
atomic  time.  Under  this  tremendous  dawn  of 
power  and  freedom,  under  a  sky  ablaze  with 
promise,  in  the  very  presence  of  science  standing 
like  some  bountiful  goddess  over  all  the  squat 
darknesses  of  human  life,  holding  patiently  in  her 
strong  arms,  until  men  chose  to  take  them,  secur- 
ity, plenty,  the  solution  of  riddles,  the  key  of  the 
bravest  adventures,  in  her  very  presence,  and  with 
the  earnest  of  her  gifts  in  court,  the  world  was  to 
witness  such  things  as  the  squalid  spectacle  of  the 
Dass-Tata  patent  litigation. 

There  in  a  stuffy  court  in  London,  a  grimy 
oblong  box  of  a  room,  during  the  exceptional 
heat  of  the  May  of  1956,  the  leading  counsel  of 
the  day  argued  and  shouted  over  a  miserable 
little  matter  of  more  royalties  or  less,  and  whether 
the  Dass-Tata  company  might  not  bar  the  Hol- 
sten-Roberts  methods  of  utilising  the  new  power. 
The  Dass-Tata  people  were  indeed  making  a 
strenuous  attempt  to  secure  a  world  monopoly  in 
atomic  engineering.  The  judge,  after  the  man- 
ner of  those  times,  sat  raised  above  the  court, 
wearing  a  preposterous  gown  and  a  foolish,  huge 
wig;  the  counsel  also  wore  dirty-looking  little 
wigs  and  queer  black  gowns  over  their  usual  cos- 
tume, wigs  and  gowns  that  were  held  to  be  neces- 
sary to  their  pleading,  and  upon  unclean  wooden 

58 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

benches  stirred  and  whispered  artful-looking  solic- 
itors, busily  scribbling  reporters,  the  parties  to 
the  case,  expert  witnesses,  interested  people,  and 
a  jostling  confusion  of  subpoenaed  persons,  brief- 
less young  barristers  (forming  a  style  on  the  most 
esteemed  and  truculent  examples),  and  casual  ec- 
centric spectators  who  preferred  this  pit  of 
iniquity  to  the  free  sunlight  outside.  Everyone 
was  damply  hot,  the  examining  King's  Counsel 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  huge,  clean- 
shaven upper  lip,  and  into  this  atmosphere  of 
grasping  contention  and  human  exhalations  the 
daylight  filtered  through  a  window  that  was  mani- 
festly dirty.  The  jury  sat  in  a  double  pew  to  the 
left  of  the  judge,  looking  as  uncomfortable  as 
frogs  that  have  fallen  into  an  ash-pit,  and  in  the 
witness-box  lied  the  would-be  omnivorous  Dass, 
under  cross-examination, 

Holsten  had  always  been  accustomed  to  publish 
his  results  as  soon  as  they  appeared  to  him  to  be 
sufficiently  advanced  to  furnish  a  basis  for  further 
work,  and  to  that  confiding  disposition  and  one 
happy  flash  of  adaptive  invention  the  alert  Dass 
owed  his  claim.   .  .  . 

But  indeed  a  vast  multitude  of  such  sharp  peo- 
ple were  clutching,  patenting,  pre-empting,  monop- 
olising this  or  that  feature  of  the  new  develop- 
ment,   seeking    to    subdue    this    gigantic    winged 

59 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

power  to  the  purposes  of  their  Httle  lusts  and 
avarice.  That  trial  is  just  one  of  innumerable 
disputes  of  the  same  kind.  For  a  time  the  face 
of  the  world  festered  with  patent  legislation.  It 
chanced,  however,  to  have  one  oddly  dramatic 
feature  in  the  fact  that  Holsten,  after  being  kept 
waiting  about  the  court  for  two  days  as  a  beggar 
might  have  waited  at  a  rich  man's  door,  after 
being  bullied  by  ushers  and  watched  by  policemen, 
was  called  as  a  witness,  rather  severely  handled 
by  counsel,  and  told  not  to  "  quibble  "  by  the 
judge  when  he  was  trying  to  be  absolutely  ex- 
plicit. 

The  judge  scratched  his  nose  with  a  quill  pen, 
and  sneered  at  Holsten's  astonishment  round  the 
corner  of  his  monstrous  wig.  Holsten  was  a 
great  man,  was  he?  Well,  in  a  law-court  great 
men  were  put  in  their  places. 

"  We  want  to  know  has  the  plaintiff  added 
anything  to  this  or  hasn't  he?"  said  the  judge. 
"  We  don't  want  to  have  your  views  whether 
Sir  Philip  Dass's  improvements  were  merely 
superficial  adaptations  or  whether  they  were  im- 
plicit in  your  paper.  No  doubt  —  after  the  man- 
ner of  inventors  —  you  think  most  things  that 
were  ever  likely  to  be  discovered  are  implicit  in 
your  papers.  No  doubt  also  you  think,  too,  that 
most  subsequent  additions  and  modifications  are 

60 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

merely  superficial.  Inventors  have  a  way  of  think- 
ing that.  The  law  isn't  concerned  with  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  law  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
vanity  of  inventors.  The  law  is  concerned  with 
the  question  whether  these  patent  rights  have  the 
novelty  the  plaintiff  claims  for  them.  What  that 
admission  may  or  may  not  stop,  and  all  these 
other  things  you  are  saying  in  your  overflowing 
zeal  to  answer  more  than  the  questions  addressed 
to  you  —  none  of  these  things  have  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  the  case  in  hand.  It  is  a 
matter  of  constant  astonishment  to  me  in  this 
court  to  see  how  you  scientific  men,  with  all  your 
extraordinary  claims  to  precision  and  veracity, 
wander  and  wander  so  soon  as  you  get  into  the 
witness-box.  I  know  no  more  unsatisfactory  class 
of  witness.  The  plain  and  simple  question  is, 
has  Sir  Philip  Dass  made  any  real  addition  to 
existing  knowledge  and  methods  in  this  matter, 
or  has  he  not?  We  don't  want  to  know  whether 
they  were  large  or  small  additions,  nor  what  the 
consequences  of  your  admission  may  be.  That 
you  will  leave  to  us." 

Holsten  was  silent. 

"  Surely?  "  said  the  judge  almost  pityingly. 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  said  Holsten,  perceiving  that 
for  once  in  his  life  he  must  disregard  infinitesimals. 

"  Ah  1  "  said  the  judge.  "  Now,  why  couldn't 
6i 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

you  say  that  when  counsel  put  the  question?  .  .  ." 
An  entry  in  Holsten's  diary-autobiography 
dated  five  days  later  runs:  "  Still  amazed.  The 
law  is  the  most  dangerous  thing  in  the  country. 
It  is  hundreds  of  years  old.  It  hasn't  an  idea. 
The  oldest  of  old  bottles  and  this  new  wine,  the 
most  explosive  wine.  Something  will  overtake 
them." 

§   4- 
There  was  a  certain  truth  in  Holsten's  asser- 
tion that  the  law  was  "  hundreds  of  years  old." 
It  was,  in  relation  to  current  thought  and  widely 
accepted  ideas,  an  archaic  thing.     While  almost 
all  the   material  and  methods  of  life  had  been 
changing   rapidly   and   were   now   changing   still 
more  rapidly,  the  law  courts  and  the  legislatures 
of  the  world  were  struggling  desperately  to  meet 
modern    demands   with   devices   and   procedures, 
conceptions  of  rights  and  property  and  authority 
and   obligation   that   dated   from  the   rude   com- 
promises of  relatively  barbaric  times.     The  horse- 
hair wigs  and  antic  dresses  of  the  British  judges, 
their    musty    courts    and    overbearing    manners, 
were  indeed  only  the  outward  and  visible  intima- 
tions   of   profounder    anachronisms.     The    legal 
and  political  organisation  of  the  earth  in  the  mid- 
dle twentieth  century  was  indeed  everywhere  like 
a  complicated  garment,  outworn  yet  strong,  that 

62 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

now  fettered  the  governing  body  that  once  it  had 
protected. 

Yet  that  same  spirit  of  free-thinking  and  out- 
spoken publication  that  in  the  field  of  natural 
science  had  been  the  beginning  of  the  conquest 
of  nature,  was  at  work  throughout  all  the 
eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries  preparing  the 
spirit  of  new  world  within  the  degenerating  body 
of  the  old.  The  idea  of  a  greater  subordination 
of  individual  interests  and  established  institutions 
to  the  collective  future  is  traceable  more  and  more 
clearly  in  the  literature  of  those  times,  and  move- 
ment after  movement  fretted  itself  away  in 
criticism  of,  and  opposition  to,  first  this  aspect 
and  then  that  of  the  legal,  social,  and  political 
order.  Already  in  the  early  nineteenth  century 
Shelley,  with  no  scrap  of  alternative.  Is  denounc- 
ing the  established  rulers  of  the  world  as  Anarchs, 
and  the  entire  system  of  ideas  and  suggestions 
that  was  known  as  Socialism,  and  more  par- 
ticularly Its  International  side,  feeble  as  it  was 
in  creative  proposals  or  any  method  of  transi- 
tion, still  witnesses  to  the  growth  of  a  conception 
of  a  modernised  system  of  Inter-relationships  that 
should  supplant  the  existing  tangle  of  proprietary 
legal  Ideas. 

The  word  "  Sociology  "  was  Invented  by  Her- 
bert Spencer,   a  popular  writer  upon  phllosoph- 

63 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

ical  subjects  who  flourished  about  the  middle  of 
the  nineteenth  century;  but  the  idea  of  a  state, 
planned  as  an  electric  traction  system  is  planned, 
without  reference  to  pre-existing  apparatus,  upon 
scientific  lines,  did  not  take  a  very  strong  hold 
upon  the  popular  imagination  of  the  world  until 
the  twentieth  century.  Then,  the  growing  im- 
patience of  the  American  people  with  the  mon- 
strous and  socially  paralysing  party  systems  that 
had  sprung  out  of  their  absurd  electoral  arrange- 
ments, led  to  the  appearance  of  what  came  to  be 
called  the  "  Modern  State  "  movement,  and  a 
galaxy  of  brilliant  writers,  in  America,  Europe, 
and  the  East,  stirred  up  the  world  to  the  thought 
of  bolder  rearrangements  of  social  interaction, 
property,  employment,  education,  and  government, 
than  had  ever  been  contemplated  before.  No 
doubt  these  Modern  State  ideas  were  very  largely 
the  reflection  upon  social  and  political  thought  of 
the  vast  revolution  in  material  things  that  had 
been  in  progress  for  two  hundred  years,  but  for 
a  long  time  they  seemed  to  be  having  no  more 
influence  upon  existing  institutions  than  the  writ- 
ings of  Rousseau  and  Voltaire  seemed  to  have  had 
at  the  time  of  the  death  of  the  latter.  They 
were  fermenting  in  men's  minds,  and  it  needed 
only  just  such  social  and  political  stresses  as  the 
coming  of  the  atomic  mechanisms  brought  about 

64 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

to  thrust  them  forward  abruptly  into  crude  and 
starding  reahsation. 

§  5- 

Frederick  Barnet's  Wander  Jahre  is  one  of 
those  autobiographical  novels  that  were  popular 
throughout  the  third  and  fourth  decades  of  the 
twentieth  century.  It  was  published  in  1970,  and 
one  must  understand  Wander  Jahre  rather  in  a 
spiritual  and  intellectual  than  in  a  literal  sense. 
It  is,  indeed,  an  allusive  title,  carrying  the  world 
back  to  the  Wilhelm  Meister  of  Goethe,  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  earlier. 

Its  author,  Frederick  Barnet,  gives  a  minute  and 
curious  history  of  his  life  and  ideas  between  his 
nineteenth  and  his  twenty-third  birthdays.  He 
was  neither  a  very  original  nor  a  very  brilliant 
man,  but  he  had  a  trick  of  circumstantial  writing; 
and  though  no  authentic  portrait  was  to  survive 
for  the  information  of  posterity,  he  betrays  by 
a  score  of  casual  phrases  that  he  was  short,  sturdy, 
inclined  to  be  plump,  with  a  "  rather  blobby  " 
face,  and  full,  rather  projecting  blue  eyes.  He 
belonged  until  the  financial  debacle  of  1956  to 
the  class  of  fairly  prosperous  people,  he  was  a 
student  in  London,  he  aeroplaned  to  Italy  and 
then  had  a  pedestrian  tour  from  Genoa  to  Rome, 
crossed  in  the  air  to  Greece  and  Egypt,  and 
came  back  over  the  Balkans  and  Germany.     His 

6j 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

family  fortunes,  which  were  largely  Invested  in 
bank  shares,  coal  mines  and  house  property,  were 
destroyed.  Reduced  to  penury,  he  sought  to 
earn  a  living.  He  suffered  great  hardship,  and 
was  then  caught  up  by  the  war  and  had  a  year 
of  soldiering,  first  as  an  officer  in  the  English 
infantry,  and  then  in  the  army  of  pacification. 
His  book  tells  all  these  things  so  simply  and  at 
the  same  time  so  explicitly  that  it  remains,  as  it 
were,  an  eye  by  which  future  generations  may  have 
at  least  one  man's  vision  of  the  years  of  the  Great 
Change. 

And  he  was,  he  tells  us,  a  "  Modern  State  " 
man,  "  by  instinct "  from  the  beginning.  He 
breathed  in  these  ideas  in  the  class-rooms  and 
laboratories  of  the  Carnegie  Foundation  school 
that  rose,  a  long  and  delicately  beautiful  facade 
along  the  South  Bank  of  the  Thames  opposite 
the  ancient  dignity  of  Somerset  House.  Such 
thought  was  interwoven  with  the  very  fabric  of 
that  pioneer  school  in  the  educational  renascence 
In  England.  After  the  customary  exchange  years 
In  Heidelberg  and  Paris,  he  went  into  the  classi- 
cal school  of  London  University.  The  older  so- 
called  "  classical  "  education  of  the  British  ped- 
agogues, probably  the  most  paralysing.  Inef- 
fective, and  foolish  routine  that  ever  wasted  hu- 
man life,  had  already  been  swept  out  of  this  great 

66 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

institution  in  favour  of  modern  methods;  and  he 
learnt  Greek  and  Latin  as  well  as  he  had  learnt 
German,  Spanish,  and  French,  so  that  he  wrote 
and  spoke  them  freely  and  used  them  with  an  un- 
conscious ease  in  his  study  of  the  foundation  civi- 
lisations of  the  European  system  to  which  they 
were  the  key.  (This  change  was  still  so  recent 
that  he  mentions  an  encounter  in  Rome  with  an 
"  Oxford  don  "  who  "  spoke  Latin  with  a  Wilt- 
shire accent  and  manifest  discomfort,  wrote  Greek 
letters  with  his  tongue  out,  and  seemed  to  think 
a  Greek  sentence  a  charm  when  it  was  a  quota- 
tion and  an  impropriety  when  it  wasn't.") 

Barnet  saw  the  last  days  of  the  coal-steam  en- 
gines upon  the  English  railways  and  the  gradual 
cleansing  of  the  London  atmosphere  as  the  smoke- 
creating  sea-coal  fires  gave  place  to  electric  heat- 
ing. The  building  of  laboratories  at  Kensington 
was  still  in  progress  and  he  took  part  in  the 
students'  riots  that  delayed  the  removal  of  the 
Albert  Memorial.  He  carried  a  banner  with 
"  We  like  Funny  Statuary  "  on  one  side  and  on 
the  other  "  Seats  and  Canopies  for  Statues.  Why 
should  our  Great  Departed  Stand  in  the  Rain?  " 
He  learnt  the  rather  athletic  aviation  of  those  days 
at  the  University  grounds  at  Sydenham,  and  he 
was  fined  for  flying  over  the  new  prison  for 
political  libellers   at  Wormwood   Scrubs,    "  in   a 

67 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

manner  calculated  to  exhilarate  the  prisoners 
while  at  exercise."  That  was  the  time  of  the 
attempted  suppression  of  any  criticism  of  the 
public  judicature,  and  the  place  was  crowded  with 
journalists  who  had  ventured  to  call  attention  to 
the  dementia  of  Chief  Justice  Abrahams.  Barnet 
was  not  a  very  good  aviator,  he  confesses  he  was 
always  a  little  afraid  of  his  machine  —  there  was 
excellent  reason  for  everyone  to  be  afraid  of  those 
clumsy  early  types  —  and  he  never  attempted 
steep  descents  or  very  high  flying.  He  also,  he 
records,  owned  one  of  those  oil-driven  motor 
bicycles  whose  clumsy  complexity  and  extravagant 
filthiness  still  astonish  the  visitors  to  the  museum 
of  machinery  at  South  Kensington.  He  mentions 
running  over  a  dog,  and  complains  of  the  ruinous 
price  of  "  spatchcocks "  in  Surrey.  "  Spatch- 
cocks," it  seems,  was  a  slang  term  for  crushed 
hens. 

He  passed  the  examinations  necessary  to  re- 
duce his  military  service  to  a  minimum,  and  his 
want  of  any  special  scientific  or  technical  quali- 
fication and  a  certain  precocious  corpulence  that 
handicapped  his  aviation  indicated  the  infantry 
of  the  line  as  his  sphere  of  training.  That  was 
the  most  generalised  form  of  soldiering.  The 
development  of  the  theory  of  war  had  been  for 
some  decades  but  little  assisted  by  any  practical 

68 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

experience.  What  fighting  had  occurred  in  recent 
years  had  been  fighting  in  minor  or  uncivilised 
states,  with  peasant  or  barbaric  soldiers  and  with 
but  a  small  equipment  of  modern  contrivances, 
and  the  great  powers  of  the  world  were  content 
for  the  most  part  to  maintain  armies  that  sus- 
tained in  their  broader  organisation  the  traditions 
of  the  European  wars  of  thirty  or  forty  years 
before.  There  was  the  infantry  arm  to  which 
Barnet  belonged,  and  which  was  supposed  to  fight 
on  foot  with  the  rifle  and  be  the  main  portion 
of  the  army.  There  were  cavalry  forces  (horse 
soldiers),  having  a  ratio  to  the  infantry  that  had 
been  determined  by  the  experiences  of  the  Franco- 
German  war  in  1871.  There  was  also  artillery, 
and  for  some  unexplained  reason  much  of  this 
was  still  drawn  by  horses;  though  there  were  also 
in  all  the  European  armies  a  small  number  of 
motor-guns  with  wheels  so  constructed  that  they 
could  go  over  broken  ground.  In  addition  there 
were  large  developments  of  the  engineering  arm, 
concerned  with  motor  transport,  motor-bicycle 
scouting,  aviation,  and  the  like. 

No  first-class  intelligence  had  been  sought  to 
specialise  in  and  work  out  the  problems  of  war- 
fare with  the  new  appliances  and  under  modern 
conditions,  but  a  succession  of  able  jurists.  Lord 
Haldane,  Chief  Justice  Briggs,  and  that  very  able 

69 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

King's  Counsel  Philbrick,  had  reconstructed  the 
Army  frequently  and  thoroughly  and  placed  It  at 
last,  with  the  adoption  of  national  service,  upon 
a  footing  that  would  have  seemed  very  Imposing 
to  the  public  of  1900.  At  any  moment  the 
British  Empire  could  now  put  a  million  and  a 
quarter  of  arguable  soldiers  upon  the  board  of 
Welt-Polltlk.  The  traditions  of  Japan  and  the 
Central  European  armies  were  more  princely  and 
less  forensic,  the  Chinese  still  refused  resolutely  to 
become  a  military  Power  and  maintained  a  small 
standing  army  upon  the  American  model  that  was 
said,  so  far  as  It  went,  to  be  highly  efficient,  and 
Russia,  secured  by  a  stringent  administration 
against  internal  criticism,  had  scarcely  altered  the 
design  of  a  uniform  or  the  organisation  of  a  bat- 
tery since  the  opening  decades  of  the  century. 
Barnet's  opinion  of  his  military  training  was  mani- 
festly a  poor  one,  his  Modern  State  ideas  disposed 
him  to  regard  It  as  a  bore  and  his  common  sense 
condemned  it  as  useless.  Moreover,  his  habit  of 
body  made  him  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  fatigues 
and  hardships  of  service. 

"  For  three  days  In  succession  we  turned  out 
before  dawn  and  —  for  no  earthly  reason  — 
without  breakfast,"  he  relates.  "  I  suppose  that 
is  to  show  us  that  when  the  Day  comes  the  first 
thing  will  be  to  get  us  thoroughly  uncomfortable 

70 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

and  rotten.  We  then  proceeded  to  Kriegspiel  ac- 
cording to  the  mysterious  ideas  of  those  in  author- 
ity over  us.  On  the  last  day  we  spent  three 
hours  under  a  hot,  if  early,  sun  getting  over  eight 
miles  of  country  to  a  point  we  could  have  reached 
in  a  motor  omnibus  in  nine  minutes  and  a  half, 
—  I  did  it  the  next  day  in  that  —  and  then  we 
made  a  massed  attack  upon  entrenchments  that 
could  have  shot  us  all  about  three  times  over  if 
only  the  umpires  had  let  them.  Then  came  a 
little  bayonet  exercise,  but  I  doubt  If  I  am  suf- 
ficiently a  barbarian  to  stick  this  long  knife  Into 
anything  living.  Anyhow,  in  this  battle  I 
shouldn't  have  had  a  chance.  Assuming  that  by 
some  miracle  I  hadn't  been  shot  three  times  over, 
I  was  far  too  hot  and  blown  when  I  got  up  to  the 
entrenchments  even  to  lift  my  beastly  rifle.  It 
was  those  others  would  have  begun  the  stick- 
ing. •  •  •      _ 

"  For  a  time  we  were  watched  by  two  hostile 
aeroplanes;  then  our  own  came  up  and  asked 
them  not  to,  and  —  the  practice  of  aerial  warfare 
still  being  unknown  —  they  very  politely  desisted 
and  went  away  and  did  dives  and  circles  of  the 
most  charming  description  over  the  Fox  Hills." 

All  Barnet's  accounts  of  his  military  training 
were  written  In  the  same  half-contemptuous,  half- 
protesting   tone.     He   was   of  opinion   that   his 

71 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

chances  of  participating  in  any  real  warfare  were 
very  slight  and  that,  if  after  all  he  should  par- 
ticipate, it  was  bound  to  be  so  entirely  different 
from  these  peace  manoeuvres  that  his  only  course 
as  a  rational  man  would  be  to  keep  as  observantly 
out  of  danger  as  he  could  until  he  had  learnt  the 
tricks  and  possibilities  of  the  new  conditions. 
He  states  this  quite  frankly.  Never  was  a  man 
more  free  from  sham  heroics. 


Barnet  welcomed  the  appearance  of  the  atomic 
engine  with  the  zest  of  masculine  youth  in  all 
fresh  machinery,  and  it  is  evident  that  for  some 
time  he  failed  to  connect  the  rush  of  wonderful 
new  possibilities  with  the  financial  troubles  of  his 
family.  "  I  knew  my  father  was  worried,"  he 
admits.  That  cast  the  smallest  of  shadows  upon 
his  delighted  departure  for  Italy  and  Greece  and 
Egypt  with  three  congenial  companions  in  one  of 
the  new  atomic  models.  They  flew  over  the 
Channel  Isles  and  Touralne,  he  mentions,  and 
circled  about  Mont  Blanc  — "  These  new  helicop- 
ters, we  found,"  he  notes,  "  had  abolished  all  the 
danger  and  strain  of  sudden  drops  to  which 
the  old-time  aeroplanes  were  liable," —  and  then 
he  went  on  by  way  of  Pisa,  Paestum,  GhirgentI 
and  Athens  to  visit  the  pyramids  by  moonlight, 

72 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

flying  thither  from  Cairo,  and  to  follow  the  Nile 
up  to  Khartoum.  Even  by  later  standards  it  must 
have  been  a  very  gleeful  holiday  for  a  young  man, 
and  it  made  the  tragedy  of  his  next  experiences  all 
the  darker.  A  week  after  his  return,  his  father, 
who  was  a  widower,  announced  himself  ruined, 
and  committed  suicide  by  means  of  an  unscheduled 
opiate. 

At  one  blow  Barnet  found  himself  flung  out  of 
the  possessing,  spending,  enjoying  class  to  which 
he  belonged,  penniless  and  with  no  calling  by 
which  he  could  earn  a  living.  He  tried  teaching 
and  some  journalism,  but  in  a  little  while  he  found 
himself  on  the  underside  of  a  world  in  which  he 
had  always  reckoned  to  live  in  the  sunshine.  For 
innumerable  men  such  an  experience  has  meant 
mental  and  spiritual  destruction,  but  Barnet,  in 
spite  of  his  bodily  gravitation  towards  comfort, 
showed  himself,  when  put  to  the  test,  of  the  more 
valiant  modern  quality.  He  was  saturated  with 
the  creative  stoicism  of  the  heroic  times  that  were 
already  dawning,  and  he  took  his  difficulties  and 
discomforts  stoutly  as  his  appointed  material,  and 
turned  them  to  expression. 

Indeed,  in  his  book  he  thanks  fortune  for  them. 
"  I  might  have  lived  and  died,"  he  says,  "  in  that 
neat  fool's  paradise  of  secure  lavishness  above 
there.     I  might  never  have  realised  the  gathering 

73 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

wrath  and  sorrow  of  the  ousted  and  exasperated 
masses.  In  the  days  of  my  own  prosperity  things 
had  seemed  to  me  to  be  very  well  arranged." 
Now  from  his  new  point  of  view  he  was  to  find 
they  were  not  arranged  at  all;  that  government 
was  a  compromise  of  aggressions  and  powers  and 
lassitudes,  and  law  a  convention  between  interests, 
and  that  the  poor  and  the  weak,  though  they  had 
many  negligent  masters,  had  few  friends. 

"  I  had  thought  things  were  looked  after,"  he 
wrote.  "  It  was  with  a  kind  of  amazement  that 
I  tramped  the  roads  and  starved  —  and  found 
that  no  one  in  particular  cared." 

He  was  turned  out  of  his  lodging  in  a  backward 
part  of  London. 

"  It  was  with  difficulty  I  persuaded  my  land- 
lady—  she  was  a  needy  widow,  poor  soul,  and  I 
was  already  in  her  debt  —  to  keep  an  old  box  for 
me  in  which  I  had  locked  a  few  letters,  keepsakes, 
and  the  like.  She  lived  in  great  fear  of  the 
Public  Health  and  Morality  Inspectors  because 
she  was  sometimes  too  poor  to  pay  the  customary 
tip  to  them,  but  at  last  she  consented  to  put  it  in 
a  dark,  tiled  place  under  the  stairs,  and  then  I 
went  forth  into  the  world  —  to  seek  first  the  luck 
of  a  meal  and  then  shelter." 

He  wandered  down  into  the  thronging  gayer 
74 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

parts  of  London  in  which  a  year  or  so  ago  he  had 
been  numbered  among  the  spenders. 

London,  under  the  Visible  Smoke  Law,  by 
which  any  production  of  a  visible  smoke  with  or 
without  excuse  was  punishable  by  a  fine,  had  al- 
ready ceased  to  be  the  sombre,  smoke-darkened 
city  of  the  Victorian  time;  it  had  been,  and  indeed 
was,  contantly  being  rebuilt,  and  its  main  streets 
were  already  beginning  to  take  on  those  character- 
istics that  distinguished  them  throughout  the  latter 
half  of  the  twentieth  century.  The  Insanitary 
horse  and  the  plebeian  bicycle  had  been  banished 
from  the  roadway,  which  was  now  of  a  resilient, 
glass-like  surface,  spotlessly  clean;  and  the  foot 
passenger  was  restricted  to  a  narrow  vestige  of 
the  ancient  footpath  on  either  side  of  the  track 
and  forbidden,  at  the  risk  of  a  fine,  if  he  survived, 
to  cross  the  roadway.  People  descended  from 
their  automobiles  upon  this  pavement  and  went 
through  the  lower  shops  to  the  lifts  and  stairs  to 
the  new  ways  for  pedestrians,  the  Rows,  that  ran 
along  the  front  of  the  houses  at  the  level  of  the 
first  story  and,  being  joined  by  frequent  bridges, 
gave  the  newer  parts  of  London  a  curiously 
Venetian  appearance.  In  some  streets  there  were 
upper  and  even  third  story  Rows.  For  most  of 
the  day  and  all  night  the  shop  windows  were  lit 

75 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

by  electric  light,  and  many  establishments  had 
made,  as  it  were,  canals  of  public  footpaths 
through  their  premises  in  order  to  increase  their 
window  space.  Barnet  made  his  way  along  this 
night-scene  rather  apprehensively,  since  the  police 
had  power  to  challenge  and  demand  the  Labour 
Card  of  any  indigent-looking  person,  and  if  the 
record  failed  to  show  he  was  in  employment  dis- 
miss him  to  the  traffic  pavement  below. 

But  there  was  still  enough  of  his  former  gen- 
tility about  Barnet's  appearance  and  bearing  to 
protect  him  from  this;  the  police,  too,  had  other 
things  to  think  of  that  night,  and  he  was  permitted 
to  reach  the  galleries  about  Leicester  Square, — 
that  great  focus  of  London  life  and  pleasure. 

He  gives  a  vivid  description  of  the  scene  that 
evening.  In  the  centre  was  a  garden  raised  on 
arches  lit  by  festoons  of  lights  and  connected  with 
the  Rows  by  eight  graceful  bridges,  beneath  which 
hummed  the  interlacing  streams  of  motor  traffic, 
pulsating  as  the  current  alternated  between  east 
and  west  and  north  and  south.  Above  rose  great 
frontages  of  intricate  rather  than  beautiful  rein- 
forced porcelain,  studded  with  lights,  barred  by 
bold,  illuminated  advertisements  and  glowing  with 
reflections.  There  were  the  two  historical  music- 
halls  of  this  place,  the  Shakespeare  Memorial 
Theatre,  in  which  the  municipal  players  revolved 

76 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

perpetually  through  the  cycle  of  Shakespeare's 
plays,  and  four  other  great  houses  of  refreshment 
and  entertainment,  whose  pinnacles  streamed  up 
into  the  blue  obscurity  of  the  night.  The  south 
side  of  the  square  was  in  dark  contrast  to  the 
others;  it  was  still  being  rebuilt,  and  a  lattice  of 
steel  bars  surmounted  by  the  frozen  gestures 
of  monstrous  cranes  rose  over  the  excavated  sites 
of  vanished  Victorian  buildings. 

This  framework  attracted  Barnet's  attention 
for  a  time  to  the  exclusion  of  other  interests.  It 
was  absolutely  still,  it  had  a  dead  rigidity,  a 
stricken  inaction,  no  one  was  at  work  upon  it,  and 
all  its  machinery  was  quiet;  but  the  constructors' 
globes  of  vacuum  light  filled  its  every  interstice 
with  a  quivering  green  moonshine  and  showed 
alert,  but  motionless  —  soldier  sentinels ! 

He  asked  a  passing  stroller,  and  was  told  that 
the  men  had  struck  that  day  against  the  use  of  an 
atomic  riveter  that  would  have  doubled  the  indi- 
vidual efficiency  and  halved  the  number  of  steel 
workers. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  they  didn't  get  chucking 
bombs,"  said  Barnet's  informant,  hovered  for  a 
moment,  and  then  went  on  his  way  to  the  Alham- 
bra  music-hall. 

Barnet  became  aware  of  an  excitement  in  the 
newspaper  kiosks  at  the  corners  of  the  square. 

77 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Something  very  sensational  had  been  flashed  upon 
the  transparencies.  Forgetting  for  a  moment  his 
penniless  condition,  he  made  his  way  over  a  bridge 
to  buy  a  paper,  for  in  those  days  the  papers,  which 
were  printed  upon  thin  sheets  of  metallic  foil, 
were  sold  at  determinate  points  by  specially 
licensed  purveyors.  Half  over  he  stopped  short 
at  a  change  in  the  traffic  below;  and  was  aston- 
ished to  see  that  the  police  signals  were  restricting 
vehicles  to  the  half  roadway.  When  presently  he 
got  within  sight  of  the  transparencies  that  had  re- 
placed the  placards  of  Victorian  times,  he  read 
of  the  Great  March  of  the  Unemployed  that  was 
already  in  progress  through  the  West  End,  and  so 
without  expenditure  he  was  able  to  understand 
what  was  coming. 

He  watched,  and  his  book  describes  this  proces- 
sion which  the  police  had  considered  it  unwise  to 
prevent  and  which  had  been  spontaneously  organ- 
ised in  imitation  of  the  Unemployed  Processions 
of  earlier  times.  He  had  expected  a  mob,  but 
there  was  a  kind  of  sullen  discipline  about  the  pro- 
cession when  at  last  it  arrived.  What  seemed 
for  a  time  an  unending  column  of  men  marched 
wearily,  marched  with  a  kind  of  implacable  futil- 
ity, along  the  roadway  underneath  him.  He  was, 
he  says,  moved  to  join  them,  but  instead  he  re- 
mained watching.     They  were   a  dingy,  shabby, 

78 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

ineffective-looking  multitude,  for  the  most  part 
incapable  of  any  but  obsolete  and  superseded  types 
of  labour.  They  bore  a  few  banners  with  the 
time-honoured  inscription:  "Work,  not  Charity," 
but  otherwise  their  ranks  were  unadorned. 

They  were  not  singing,  they  were  not  even  talk- 
ing, there  was  nothing  truculent  nor  aggressive  in 
their  bearing,  they  had  no  definite  objective,  they 
were  just  marching  and  showing  themselves  in  the 
more  prosperous  parts  of  London.  They  were  a 
sample  of  that  great  mass  of  unskilled,  cheap 
labour  which  the  new,  still  cheaper  mechanical 
powers  had  superseded  for  ever  more.  They 
were  being  "  scrapped  " —  as  horses  had  been 
"  scrapped." 

Barnet  leant  over  the  parapet  watching  them, 
his  mind  quickened  by  his  own  precarious  condi- 
tion. For  a  time,  he  says,  he  felt  nothing  but 
despair  at  the  sight;  what  should  be  done,  what 
could  be  done  for  this  gathering  surplus  of  hu- 
manity? They  were  so  manifestly  useless  —  and 
incapable  —  and  pitiful. 

What  were  they  asking  for? 

They  had  been  overtaken  by  unexpected  things. 
Nobody  had  foreseen  — 

It  flashed  suddenly  into  his  mind  just  what  the 
multitudinous  shambling  enigma  below  meant.  It 
was  an  appeal  against  the  unexpected,  an  appeal 

79 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

to  those  others  who,  more  fortunate,  seemed  wiser 
and  more  powerful,  for  something  —  for  intelli- 
gence. This  mute  mass,  weary-footed,  rank  fol- 
lowing rank,  protested  its  persuasion  that  some  of 
these  others  must  have  foreseen  these  dislocations, 
—  that  anyhow  they  ought  to  have  foreseen  — 
and  arranged. 

That  was  what  this  crowd  of  wreckage  was 
feeling  and  seeking  so  dumbly  to  assert. 

"  Things  came  to  me  like  the  turning  on  of  a 
light  in  a  darkened  room,"  he  says.  "  These  men 
were  praying  to  their  fellow-creatures  as  once  they 
prayed  to  God!  The  last  thing  that  men  will 
realise  about  anything  is  that  it  is  inanimate. 
They  had  transferred  their  animation  to  mankind. 
They  still  believed  there  was  intelligence  some- 
where, even  if  it  was  careless  or  malignant.  .  .  . 
It  had  only  to  be  aroused  to  be  conscience-stricken, 
to  be  moved  to  exertion.  .  .  .  And  I  saw,  too, 
that  as  yet  there  was  no  such  intelligence.  The 
world  waits  for  intelligence.  That  intelligence 
has  still  to  be  made,  that  will  for  good  and  order 
has  still  to  be  gathered  together,  out  of  scraps 
of  impulse  and  wandering  seeds  of  benevolence 
and  whatever  is  fine  and  creative  in  our  souls, 
into  a  common  purpose.  It's  something  still  to 
come.   .   .  ." 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  widening  thought  of 
80 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

the  time  that  this  not  very  heroical  young  man 
who,  in  any  previous  age,  might  well  have  been 
altogether  occupied  with  the  problem  of  his  own 
individual  necessities,  should  be  able  to  stand  there 
and  generalise  about  the  needs  of  the  race. 

But  upon  all  the  stresses  and  conflicts  of  that 
chaotic  time,  there  was  already  dawning  the  light 
of  a  new  era.  The  spirit  of  humanity  was  escap- 
ing, even  then  it  was  escaping,  from  its  extreme 
imprisonment  in  individuals.  Salvation  from  the 
bitter  intensities  of  self,  which  had  been  a  con- 
scious religious  end  for  thousands  of  years,  which 
men  had  sought  in  mortification,  in  the  wilderness, 
in  meditation  and  by  innumerable  strange  paths, 
was  coming  at  last  with  the  effect  of  naturalness 
into  the  talk  of  men,  into  the  books  they  read, 
into  their  unconscious  gestures,  into  their  news- 
papers and  daily  purposes  and  everyday  acts. 
The  broad  horizons,  the  magic  possibilities  that 
the  spirit  of  the  seeker  had  revealed  to  them  were 
charming  them  out  of  those  ancient  and  instinctive 
preoccupations  from  which  the  very  threat  of  hell 
and  torment  had  failed  to  drive  them.  And  this 
young  man,  homeless  and  without  provision  even 
for  the  immediate  hours,  in  the  presence  of  social 
disorganisation,  distress,  and  perplexity,  in  a  blaz- 
ing wilderness  of  thoughtless  pleasure  that  blotted 
out  the  stars,  could  think  as  he  tells  us  he  thought. 

8i 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  I  saw  life  plain,"  he  wrote.  "  I  saw  tlie 
gigantic  task  before  us,  and  the  very  splendour  of 
its  intricate  and  immeasurable  difficulty  filled  me 
with  exaltation.  I  saw  that  we  have  still  to  dis- 
cover government,  that  we  have  still  to  discover 
education,  which  is  the  necessary  reciprocal  of 
government,  and  that  all  this  —  in  which  my  own 
little  speck  of  a  life  was  so  manifestly  over- 
whelmed —  this  and  its  yesterday  in  Greece  and 
Rome  and  Egypt  were  nothing,  the  mere  first  dust 
swirls  of  the  beginning,  the  movements  and  dim 
murmurings  of  a  sleeper  who  will  presently  be 
awake.   .  .   ." 

§   7- 

And  then  the  story  tells,  with  an  engaging  sim- 
plicity, of  his  descent  from  this  ecstatic  vision  of 
reality. 

"  Presently  I  found  myself  again  and  I  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  cold  and  a  little  hungry." 

He  bethought  himself  of  the  John  Burns  Relief 
Offices  which  stood  upon  the  Thames  Embank- 
ment. He  made  his  way  through  the  galleries  of 
the  booksellers  and  the  National  Gallery,  which 
had  been  open  continuously  day  and  night  to  all 
decently  dressed  people  now  for  more  than  twelve 
years,  and  across  the  rose-gardens  of  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  so  by  the  hotel  colonnade  to  the  Em- 
bankment.    He  had  long  known  of  these  admira- 

82 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

ble  offices,  which  had  swept  the  last  beggars  and 
matchsellers  and  all  the  casual  indigent  from  the 
London  streets,  and  he  believed  that  he  would  as 
a  matter  of  course  be  able  to  procure  a  ticket  for 
food  and  a  night's  lodging  and  some  Indication 
of  possible  employment. 

But  he  had  not  reckoned  upon  the  new  labour 
troubles,  and  when  he  got  to  the  Embankment  he 
found  the  offices  hopelessly  congested  and  be- 
sieged by  a  large  and  rather  unruly  crowd.  He 
hovered  for  a  time  on  the  outskirts  of  the  waiting 
multitude,  perplexed  and  dismayed,  and  then  he 
became  aware  of  a  movement,  a  purposive  trick- 
ling away  of  people,  up  through  the  arches  of  the 
great  buildings  that  had  arisen  when  all  the  rail- 
way stations  were  removed  to  the  south  side  of 
the  river,  and  so  to  the  covered  ways  of  the 
Strand.  And  here  in  the  open  glare  of  midnight 
he  found  unemployed  men  begging,  and  not  only 
begging,  but  begging  with  astonishing  assurance, 
from  the  people  who  were  emerging  from  the 
small  theatres  and  other  such  places  of  entertain- 
ment which  abounded  In  that  thoroughfare. 

This  was  an  altogether  unexampled  thing. 
There  had  been  no  begging  In  London  streets  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  But  that  night  the  police 
were  evidently  unwilling  or  unable  to  cope  with 
the  destitute  who  were  invading  those  well-kept 

83 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

quarters  of  the  town.  They  had  become  stonily 
blind  to  anything  but  manifest  disorder. 

Barnet  walked  through  the  crowd  unable  to 
bring  himself  to  ask;  indeed,  his  bearing  must 
have  been  more  valiant  than  his  circumstances, 
for  twice  he  says  that  he  was  begged  from.  Near 
the  Trafalgar  Square  gardens,  a  girl  with  red- 
dened cheeks  and  blackened  eyebrows,  who  was 
walking  alone,  spoke  to  him  with  a  peculiar 
friendliness. 

"  I'm  starving,"  he  said  to  her  abruptly. 

"  Oh!  poor  dear!  "  she  said;  and  with  the  im- 
pulsive generosity  of  her  kind  glanced  round  and 
slipped  a  silver  piece  into  his  hand.  .  .  . 

It  was  a  gift  that,  in  spite  of  the  precedent  of 
De  Quincey,  might  under  the  repressive  social 
legislation  of  those  times  have  brought  Barnet 
within  reach  of  the  prison  lash.  But  he  took  it, 
he  confesses,  and  thanked  her  as  well  as  he  was 
able,  and  went  off  gladly  to  get  food. 


A  day  or  so  later, —  and  again  his  freedom  to 
go  as  he  pleased  upon  the  roads  may  be  taken  as 
a  mark  of  increasing  social  disorganisation  and 
police  embarrassment  —  he  wandered  out  into  the 
country. 

He  speaks  of  the  roads  of  that  plutocratic  age 
84 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

as  being  "  fenced  with  barbed  wire  against  un- 
propertied  people,"  of  the  high-walled  gardens 
and  trespass  warnings  that  kept  him  to  the  dusty 
narrowness  of  the  public  ways.  In  the  air,  happy 
rich  people  were  flying,  heedless  of  the  misfor- 
tunes about  them,  as  he  himself  had  been  flying 
two  years  ago,  and  along  the  road  swept  the  new 
traffic,  light  and  swift  and  wonderful.  One  was 
rarely  out  of  earshot  of  its  whistles  and  gongs 
and  siren  cries,  even  in  the  field-paths  or  over  the 
open  downs.  The  officials  of  the  labour  ex- 
changes were  everywhere  overworked  and  infuri- 
ated, the  casual  wards  were  so  crowded  that  the 
surplus  wanderers  slept  in  ranks  under  sheds  or 
In  the  open  air,  and  since  giving  to  wayfarers  had 
been  made  a  punishable  offence  there  was  no 
longer  friendship  or  help  for  a  man  from  the  rare 
foot  passenger  or  the  wayside  cottage.  .  .  . 

"  I  wasn't  angry,"  said  Barnet.  "  I  saw  an  im- 
mense selfishness,  a  monstrous  disregard  for  any- 
thing but  pleasure  and  possession  in  all  those  peo- 
ple above  us,  but  I  saw  how  inevitable  that  was, 
how  certainly  If  the  richest  had  changed  places 
with  the  poorest,  that  things  would  have  been  the 
same.  What  else  can  happen  when  men  use  sci- 
ence and  every  new  thing  that  science  gives  and 
all  their  available  Intelligence  and  energy  to 
manufacture   wealth    and   appliances,    and   leave 

85 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

government  and  education  to  the  rusting  tradi- 
tions of  hundreds  of  years  ago?  Those  tradi- 
tions come  from  the  Dark  Ages,  when  there  was 
really  not  enough  for  everyone,  when  life  was  a 
fierce  struggle  that  might  be  masked,  but  could 
not  be  escaped.  Of  course  this  famine  grabbing, 
this  fierce  dispossession  of  others,  must  follow 
from  such  a  disharmony  between  material  and 
training.  Of  course  the  rich  were  vulgar  and  the 
poor  grew  savage,  and  every  added  power  that 
came  to  men  made  the  rich  richer  and  the  poor 
less  necessary  and  less  free.  The  men  I  met  in 
the  casual  wards  and  the  relief  offices  were  all 
smouldering  for  revolt,  talking  of  justice  and  in- 
justice and  revenge.  I  saw  no  hope  in  that  talk, 
nor  in  anything  but  patience.   .   .   ." 

But  he  did  not  mean  a  passive  patience.  He 
meant  that  the  method  of  social  reconstruction 
was  still  a  riddle,  that  no  effectual  rearrangement 
was  possible  until  this  riddle  In  all  Its  tangled 
aspects  was  solved.  "  I  tried  to  talk  to  those 
discontented  men,"  he  wrote,  "  but  it  was  hard 
for  them  to  see  things  as  I  saw  them.  When  I 
talked  of  patience  and  the  larger  scheme,  they  an- 
swered, '  But  then  we  shall  all  be  dead  ' —  and  I 
could  not  make  them  see,  what  is  so  simple  to 
my  own  mind,  that  that  did  not  affect  the  question. 

86 


THE  NEW  SOURCE  OF  ENERGY 

Men  who  think  in  hfetimes  are  of  no  use  to  states- 
manship." 

He  does  not  seem  to  have  seen  a  newspaper 
during  those  wanderings,  and  a  chance  sight  of 
the  transparency  of  a  kiosk  in  the  market-place  at 
Bishop  Stortford  announcing  a  "  Grave  Inter- 
national Situation  "  did  not  excite  him  very  much. 
There  had  been  so  many  grave  international  situ- 
ations in  recent  years. 

This  time  it  was  talk  of  the  Central  Euro- 
pean Powers  suddenly  attacking  the  Slav  confed- 
eracy, with  France  and  England  going  to  the  help 
of  the  Slavs. 

But  the  next  night  he  found  a  tolerable  meal 
awaiting  the  vagrants  in  the  casual  ward,  and 
learnt  from  the  workhouse  master  that  all  serv- 
iceable trained  men  were  to  be  sent  back  on  the 
morrow  to  their  mobilisation  centres.  The  coun- 
try was  on  the  eve  of  war.  He  was  to  go  back 
through  London  to  Surrey.  His  first  feeling,  he 
records,  was  one  of  extreme  relief  that  his  days 
of  "  hopeless  battering  at  the  underside  of  civili- 
sation "  were  at  an  end.  Here  was  something 
definite  to  do,  something  definitely  provided  for. 
But  his  relief  was  greatly  modified  when  he  found 
that  the  mobilisation  arrangements  had  been  made 
so  hastily  and  carelessly  that  for  nearly  thirty-six 

87 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

hours  at  the  improvised  depot  at  Epsom  he  got 
nothing  either  to  eat  or  to  drink  but  a  cup  of  cold 
water.  The  depot  was  absolutely  unprovisioned, 
and  no  one  was  free  to  leave  it. 


CHAPTER  THE  SECOND 
The  Last  War 


Viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  a  sane  and  am- 
bitious social  order,  it  is  difficult  to  understand, 
and  it  would  be  tedious  to  follow  the  motives  that 
plunged  mankind  into  the  war  that  fills  the  his- 
tories of  the  middle  decades  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury. 

It  must  always  be  remembered  that  the  politi- 
cal structure  of  the  world  at  that  time  was  every- 
where extraordinarily  behind  the  collective  in- 
telligence. That  is  the  central  fact  of  that  his- 
tory. For  two  hundred  years  there  had  been  no 
great  changes  in  political  or  legal  methods  and 
pretensions,  the  utmost  change  had  been  a  certain 
shifting  of  boundaries  and  slight  readjustments 
of  procedure,  while  in  nearly  every  other  aspect 
of  life  there  had  been  fundamental  revolutions, 
gigantic  releases,  and  an  enormous  enlargement 
of  scope  and  outlook.  The  absurdities  of  courts 
and  the  indignities  of  representative  parliamen- 
tary government,   coupled   with   the   opening   of 

§9 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

vast  fields  of  opportunity  in  other  directions,  had 
withdrawn  the  best  intelligences  more  and  more 
from  public  affairs.  The  ostensible  governments 
of  the  world  in  the  twentieth  century  were  follow- 
ing In  the  wake  of  the  ostensible  religions.  They 
were  ceasing  to  command  the  services  of  any  but 
second-rate  men.  After  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  there  are  no  more  great  ecclesiastics 
upon  the  world's  memory,  after  the  opening  of 
the  twentieth  no  more  statesmen.  Everywhere 
one  finds  an  energetic,  ambitious,  short-sighted, 
commonplace  type  In  the  seats  of  authority,  blind 
to  the  new  possIblllLles  and  litiglously  reliant  upon 
the  traditions  of  the  past. 

Perhaps  the  most  dangerous  of  those  outworn 
traditions  were  the  boundaries  of  the  various 
"  sovereign  states,"  and  the  conception  of  a  gen- 
eral predominance  in  human  affairs  on  the  part  of 
some  one  particular.  The  memory  of  the  em- 
pires of  Rome  and  Alexander  squatted,  an  unlaid 
carnivorous  ghost.  In  the  human  Imagination  —  it 
bore  Into  the  human  brain  like  some  grisly  parasite 
and  filled  It  with  disordered  thoughts  and  violent 
Impulses.  For  more  than  a  century  the  French 
system  exhausted  its  vitality  In  belligerent  convul- 
sions, and  then  the  infection  passed  to  the  Ger- 
man-speaking peoples,  who  were  the  heart  and 
centre  of  Europe,  and  from  them  onward  to  the 

90 


THE  LAST  WAR 

Slavs.  Later  ages  were  to  store  and  neglect  the 
vast  insane  literature  of  this  obsession,  the  in- 
tricate treaties,  the  secret  agreements,  the  infinite 
knowingnesses  of  the  political  writer,  the  cunning 
refusals  to  accept  plain  facts,  the  strategic  devices, 
the  tactical  manoeuvres,  the  records  of  mobilisa- 
tions and  counter-mobilisations.  It  ceased  to  be 
credible  almost  as  soon  as  it  ceased  to  happen, 
but  in  the  very  dawn  of  the  new  age  their  state- 
craftsmen  sat  with  their  historical  candles  burn- 
ing, and,  in  spite  of  strange  new  reflections  and 
unfamiliar  lights  and  shadows,  still  wrangling  and 
planning  to  rearrange  the  maps  of  Europe  and 
the  world. 

It  was  to  become  a  matter  for  subtle  inquiry 
how  far  the  millions  of  men  and  women  outside 
the  world  of  these  specialists  sympathised  and 
agreed  with  their  portentous  activities.  One 
school  of  psychologists  inclined  to  minimise  this 
participation,  but  the  balance  of  evidence  goes  to 
show  that  there  were  massive  responses  to  these 
suggestions  of  the  belligerent  schemer.  Primi- 
tive man  had  been  a  fiercely  combative  animal; 
innumerable  generations  had  passed  their  lives  in 
tribal  warfare,  and  the  weight  of  tradition,  the 
example  of  history,  the  ideals  of  loyalty  and  de- 
votion fell  in  easily  enough  with  the  incitements 
of  the  international  mischief-maker.     The  politi- 

91 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

cal  ideas  of  the  common  man  were  picked  up 
haphazard,  there  was  practically  nothing  in  such 
education  as  he  was  given  that  was  ever  intended 
to  fit  him  for  citizenship  as  such  (that  conception 
only  appeared,  indeed,  with  the  development  of 
Modern  State  ideas),  and  it  was  therefore  a  com- 
paratively easy  matter  to  fill  his  vacant  mind  with 
the  sounds  and  fury  of  exasperated  suspicion  and 
national  aggression. 

For  example,  Barnet  describes  the  London 
crowd  as  noisily  patriotic  when  presently  his  bat- 
talion came  up  from  the  depot  to  London  to  en- 
train for  the  French  frontier.  He  tells  of  children 
and  women  and  lads  and  old  men  cheering  and 
shouting,  of  the  streets  and  rows  hung  with  the 
flags  of  the  allied  Powers,  of  a  real  enthusiasm 
even  among  the  destitute  and  unemployed.  The 
Labour  Bureaux  were  now  partially  transformed 
into  enrolment  offices  and  were  centres  of  hotly 
patriotic  excitement.  At  every  convenient  place 
upon  the  line  on  either  side  of  the  Channel  Tunnel 
there  were  enthusiastic  spectators,  and  the  feeling 
In  the  regiment,  if  a  little  stiffened  and  darkened 
by  grim  anticipations,  was  none  the  less  warlike. 

But  all  this  emotion  was  the  fickle  emotion  of 
minds  without  established  Ideas;  it  was  with  most 
of  them,  Barnet  says,  as  It  was  with  himself,  a 
natural  response  to  collective  movement,  and  to 

92 


THE  LAST  WAR 

martial  sounds  and  colours,  and  the  exhilarating 
challenge  of  vague  dangers.  And  people  had 
been  so  long  oppressed  by  the  threat  of  and  prep- 
aration for  war  that  its  arrival  came  with  an  effect 
of  positive  relief. 

§   2. 

The  plan  of  campaign  of  the  allies  assigned  the 
defence  of  the  lower  Meuse  to  the  English,  and 
the  troop-trains  were  run  direct  from  the  various 
British  depots  to  the  points  in  the  Ardennes  where 
they  were  intended  to  entrench  themselves. 

Most  of  the  documents  bearing  upon  the  cam- 
paign were  destroyed  during  the  war;  from  the 
first  the  scheme  of  the  allies  seems  to  have  been 
confused,  but  it  is  highly  probable  that  the  forma- 
tion of  an  aerial  park  in  this  region,  from  which 
attacks  could  be  made  upon  the  vast  industrial 
plant  of  the  lower  Rhine,  and  a  flanking  raid 
through  Holland  upon  the  German  naval  estab- 
lishments at  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe,  were  integral 
parts  of  the  original  project.  Nothing  of  this 
was  known  to  such  pawns  in  the  game  as  Barnet 
and  his  company,  whose  business  it  was  to  do 
what  they  were  told  by  the  mysterious  intelli- 
gences at  the  direction  of  things  in  Paris,  to  which 
city  the  Whitehall  staff  had  also  been  transferred. 
From  first  to  last  these  directing  intelligences  re- 
mained mysterious  to  the  body  of  the  army,  veiled 

93 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

under  the  name  of  "  Orders."  There  was  no 
Napoleon,  no  Czesar  to  embody  enthusiasm. 
Barnet  says,  "  We  talked  of  Them.  They  are 
sending  us  up  into  Luxembourg.  They  are  going 
to  turn  the  Central  European  right." 

Behind  the  veil  of  this  vagueness  the  little 
group  of  more  or  less  worthy  men  which  consti- 
tuted Headquarters  was  beginning  to  realise  the 
enormity  of  the  thing  it  was  supposed  to  con- 
trol.  .  .   . 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  War  Control,  whose 
windows  looked  out  across  the  Seine  to  the  Troca- 
dero  and  the  palaces  of  the  western  quarter,  a 
series  of  big-scale  relief  maps  were  laid  out  upon 
tables  to  display  the  whole  seat  of  war,  and  the 
staff-officers  of  the  control  were  continually  busy 
shifting  the  little  blocks  which  represented  the 
contending  troops,  as  the  reports  and  intelligence 
came  drifting  in  to  the  various  telegraphic  bureaux 
in  the  adjacent  rooms.  In  other  smaller  apart- 
ments there  were  maps  of  a  less  detailed  sort, 
upon  which,  for  example,  the  reports  of  the  Brit- 
ish Admiralty  and  of  the  Slav  commanders  were 
recorded  as  they  kept  coming  to  hand.  Upon 
these  maps,  as  upon  chessboards.  Marshal  Du- 
bois, in  consultation  with  General  Viard  and  the 
Earl  of  Delhi,  was  to  play  the  great  game  for 
world  supremacy  against  the   Central  European 

94 


THE  LAST  WAR 

Powers.  Very  probably  he  had  a  definite  idea 
of  his  game;  very  probably  he  had  a  coherent 
and  admirable  plan. 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  a  proper  estimate 
either  of  the  new  strategy  of  aviation  or  of  the 
possibilities  of  atomic  energy  that  Holsten  had 
opened  for  mankind.  While  he  planned  en- 
trenchments and  Invasions  and  a  frontier  war  the 
Central  European  generalship  was  striking  at  the 
eyes  and  the  brain.  And  while,  with  a  certain 
diffident  hesitation,  he  developed  his  gambit  that 
night  upon  the  lines  laid  down  by  Napoleon  and 
Moltke,  his  own  scientific  corps  In  a  state  of 
mutinous  activity  was  preparing  a  blow  for  Ber- 
lin. "These  old  fools!  "  was  the  key  In  which 
the  scientific  corps  was  thinking. 

The  War  Control  In  Paris  on  the  night  of  July 
the  second  was  an  impressive  display  of  the 
paraphernalia  of  military  organisation,  as  the  first 
half  of  the  twentieth  century  understood  it.  To 
one  human  being  at  least  the  consulting  command- 
ers had  the  likeness  of  world-wielding  gods.   .  .   . 

She  was  a  skilled  typist,  capable  of  nearly  sixty 
words  a  minute,  and  she  had  been  engaged  In 
relay  with  other  similar  women  to  take  down 
orders  In  duplicate  and  hand  them  over  to  the 
junior  officers  in  attendance  to  be  forwarded  and 
filed.     There  had  come  a  lull,  and  she  had  been 

95 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

sent  out  from  the  dictating  room  to  take  the  air 
upon  the  terrace  before  the  great  hall  and  to  eat 
such  scanty  refreshment  as  she  had  brought  with 
her  until  her  services  were  required  again. 

From  her  position  upon  the  terrace  this  young 
woman  had  a  view  not  only  of  the  wide  sweep  of 
the  river  below  her,  and  all  the  eastward  side  of 
Paris  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to  Saint  Cloud, 
great  blocks  and  masses  of  black  or  pale  darkness 
with  pink  and  golden  flashes  of  illumination  and 
endless  interlacing  bands  of  dotted  lights  under 
a  still  and  starless  sky,  but  also  the  whole  spacious 
interior  of  the  great  hall  with  its  slender  pillars 
and  gracious  arching  and  clustering  lamps  was 
visible  to  her.  There  over  a  wilderness  of  tables 
lay  the  huge  maps,  done  on  so  large  a  scale  that 
one  might  fancy  them  small  countries;  the  mes- 
sengers and  attendants  went  and  came  perpetually, 
altering,  moving  the  little  pieces  that  signified 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  men,  and  the  great 
commander  and  his  two  consultants  stood  amidst 
all  these  things  and  near  where  the  fighting  was 
nearest,  scheming,  directing.  They  had  but  to 
breathe  a  word,  and  presently  away  there,  in  the 
world  of  reality,  the  punctual  myriads  moved. 
Men  rose  up  and  went  forward  and  died.  The 
fate  of  nations  lay  behind  the  eyes  of  these  three 
men.     Indeed,  they  were  like  gods. 

96 


THE  LAST  WAR 

Most  godlike  of  the  three  was  Dubois.  It 
was  for  him  to  decide;  the  others  at  most  might 
suggest.  Her  woman's  soul  went  out  to  this 
grave,  handsome,  tall,  old  man,  in  passion  of 
instinctive  worship.  .   .  . 

Once  she  had  taken  words  of  instruction  from 
him  direct.  She  had  awaited  them  in  an  ecstasy 
of  happiness  —  and  fear.  For  her  exaltation 
was  made  terrible  by  the  dread  that  some  error 
might  dishonour  her.  .  .   . 

She  watched  him  now  through  the  glass  with 
all  the  unpenetrating  minuteness  of  an  impas- 
sioned woman's  observation. 

He  said  little,  she  remarked.  He  looked  but 
little  at  the  maps.  The  tall  Englishman  beside 
him  was  manifestly  troubled  by  a  swarm  of  ideas, 
conflicting  ideas;  he  craned  his  neck  at  every  shift- 
ing of  the  little  red,  blue,  black  and  yellow  pieces 
on  the  board,  and  wanted  to  draw  the  command- 
er's attention  to  this  and  that.  Dubois  listened, 
nodded,  emitted  a  word  and  became  still  again, 
brooding  like  the  national  eagle. 

His  eyes  were  so  deeply  sunken  under  his  white 
eyebrows  that  she  could  not  see  his  eyes;  his  mous- 
tache overhung  the  mouth  from  which  those  words 
of  decision  came.  Viard,  too,  said  little;  he  was 
a  dark  man  with  a  drooping  head  and  melancholy, 
watchful   eyes.     He  was  more   intent  upon  the 

97 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

French  right,  which  was  feeling  its  way  now 
through  Alsace  to  the  Rhine.  He  was,  she  knew, 
an  old  colleague  of  Dubois;  he  knew  him  better, 
she  decided,  he  trusted  him  more  than  this  un- 
familiar Englishman.   .  .  . 

Not  to  talk,  to  remain  impassive  and  as  far  as 
possible  in  profile;  these  were  the  lessons  that  old 
Dubois  had  mastered  years  ago.  To  seem  to 
know  all,  to  betray  no  surprise,  to  refuse  to  hurry 
—  itself  a  confession  of  miscalculation;  by  atten- 
tion to  these  simple  rules  Dubois  had  built  up  a 
steady  reputation  from  the  days  when  he  had  been 
a  promising  junior  officer,  a  still,  almost  abstracted 
young  man,  deliberate  but  ready.  Even  then 
men  had  looked  at  him  and  said:  "  He  will  go 
far."  Through  fifty  years  of  peace  he  had  never 
once  been  found  wanting,  and  at  manoeuvres  his 
impassive  persistence  had  perplexed  and  hypno- 
tised and  shattered  many  a  more  actively  intelli- 
gent man.  Deep  in  his  soul  Dubois  had  hidden 
his  one  profound  discovery  about  the  modern  art 
of  warfare,  the  key  to  his  career.  And  this  dis- 
covery was  that  nobody  knew,  that  to  act,  there- 
fore, was  to  blunder,  that  to  talk  was  to  confess; 
and  that  the  man  who  acted  slowly  and  stead- 
fastly and  above  all  silently  had  the  best  chance 
of  winning  through.  Meanwhile  one  fed  the 
men.     Now  by  this  same  strategy  he  hoped  to 

98 


THE  LAST  WAR 

shatter  those  mysterious  unknowns  of  the  Central 
European  command.  Delhi  might  talk  of  a  great 
flank  march  through  Holland  with  all  the  British 
submarines  and  hydroplanes  and  torpedo  craft 
pouring  up  the  Rhine  In  support  of  it;  Viard 
might  crave  for  brilliance  with  the  motor  bicycles, 
aeroplanes  and  ski-men  among  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains, and  a  sudden  swoop  upon  Vienna;  the  thing 
was  to  listen  —  and  wait  for  the  other  side  to  be- 
gin experimenting.  It  was  all  experimenting. 
And  meanwhile  he  remained  In  profile,  with  an 
air  of  assurance  —  like  a  man  who  sits  In  an  auto- 
mobile after  the  chauffeur  has  had  his  direc- 
tions. 

And  everyone  about  him  was  the  stronger  and 
surer  for  that  quiet  face,  that  air  of  knowledge 
and  unruffled  confidence.  The  clustering  lights 
threw  a  score  of  shadows  of  him  upon  the  maps, 
great  bunches  of  him,  versions  of  a  commanding 
presence,  lighter  or  darker,  dominated  the  field, 
and  pointed  In  every  direction.  Those  shadows 
symbolised  his  control.  When  a  messenger  came 
from  the  wireless  room  to  shift  this  or  that  piece 
in  the  game,  to  replace  under  amended  reports 
one  Central  European  regiment  by  a  score,  to 
draw  back  or  thrust  out  or  distribute  this  or  that 
force  of  the  allies,  the  Marshal  would  turn  his 
head  and  seem  not  to  see,  or  look  and  nod  slightly, 

99 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

as  a  master  nods  who  approves  a  pupil's  self-cor- 
rection.    "  Yes,  that's  better." 

How  wonderful  he  was,  thought  the  woman  at 
the  window,  how  wonderful  It  all  was.  This  was 
the  brain  of  the  western  world,  this  was  Olympus 
with  the  warring  earth  at  Its  feet.  And  he  was 
guiding  France,  France  so  long  a  resentful  exile 
from  Imperialism,  back  to  her  old  predominance. 

It  seemed  to  her  beyond  the  desert  of  a  woman 
that  she  should  be  privileged  to  participate.   .   .   . 

It  is  hard  to  be  a  woman,  full  of  the  stormy 
Impulse  to  personal  devotion,  and  to  have  to  be 
impersonal,  abstract,  exact,  punctual.  She  must 
control  herself.   .  .  . 

She  gave  herself  up  to  fantastic  dreams,  dreams 
of  the  days  when  the  war  would  be  over  and  vic- 
tory enthroned.  Then  perhaps  this  harshness, 
this  armour  would  be  put  aside  and  the  gods  might 
unbend.     Her  eyelids  drooped.  .  .  . 

She  roused  herself  with  a  start.  She  became 
aware  that  the  night  outside  was  no  longer  still. 
That  there  was  an  excitement  down  below  on 
the  bridge  and  a  running  In  the  street  and  a  flick- 
ering of  searchlights  among  the  clouds  from  some 
high  place  away  beyond  the  Trocadero.  And 
then  the  excitement  came  surging  up  past  her  and 
invaded  the  hall  within. 

One  of  the  sentinels  from  the  terrace  stood  at 

100 


THE  LAST  WAR 

the  upper  end  of  the  room  gesticulating  and  shout- 
ing something. 

And  all  the  world  had  changed.  A  kind  of 
throbbing.  She  couldn't  understand.  It  was  as 
if  all  the  water-pipes  and  concealed  machinery  and 
cables  of  the  ways  beneath  were  beating  —  as 
pulses  beat.  And  about  her  blew  something  like 
a  wind  —  a  wind  that  was  dismay. 

Her  eyes  went  to  the  face  of  the  Marshal  as  a 
frightened  child  might  look  towards  its  mother. 

He  was  still  serene.  He  was  frowning 
slightly,  she  thought,  but  that  was  natural  enough, 
for  the  Earl  of  Delhi,  with  one  hand  gauntly  ges- 
ticulating, had  taken  him  by  the  arm  and  was  all 
too  manifestly  disposed  to  drag  him  towards  the 
great  door  that  opened  on  the  terrace.  And 
Viard  was  hurrying  towards  the  huge  windows 
and  doing  so  in  the  strangest  of  attitudes,  bent 
forward  and  with  eyes  upturned. 

Something  up  there? 

And  then  it  was  as  if  thunder  broke  overhead. 

The  sound  struck  her  hke  a  blow.  She 
crouched  together  against  the  masonry  and  looked 
up.  She  saw  three  black  shapes  swooping 
down  through  the  torn  clouds,  and  from  a  point 
a  little  below  two  of  them  there  had  already 
started  curling  trails  of  red.   .   .    . 

Everything  else  in  her  being  was  paralysed,  she 

lOI 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

hung  through  moments  that  seemed  Infinities, 
watching  those  red  missies  whirl  down  towards 
her.   .  .  . 

She  felt  torn  out  of  the  world.  There  was 
nothing  else  In  the  world  but  a  crimson-purple 
glare  and  sound,  deafening,  all-embracing,  con- 
tinuing sound.  Every  other  light  had  gone  out 
about  her,  and  against  this  glare  hung  slanting 
walls,  pirouetting  pillars,  projecting  fragments  of 
cornices,  and  a  disorderly  flight  of  huge  angular 
sheets  of  glass. 

She  had  an  Impression  of  a  great  ball  of  crim- 
son-purple fire  like  a  maddened  living  thing  that 
seemed  to  be  whirling  about  very  rapidly  amidst 
a  chaos  of  falling  masonry,  that  seemed  to  be  at- 
tacking the  earth  furiously,  that  seemed  to  be  bur- 
rowing into  it  like  a  blazing  rabbit.   .   .   . 

She  had  all  the  sensations  of  waking  up  out  of 
a  dream. 

She  found  she  was  lying  face  downward  on  a 
bank  of  mould  and  that  a  little  rivulet  of  hot 
water  was  running  over  one  foot.  She  tried  to 
raise  herself  and  found  her  leg  was  very  painful. 
She  was  not  clear  whether  it  was  night  or  day 
nor  where  she  was;  she  made  a  second  effort, 
wincing  and  groaning,  and  turned  over  and  got 
into  a  sitting  position  and  looked  about  her. 

Everything  seemed  very  silent.     She   was,   in 

I02 


THE  LAST  WAR 

fact,  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  uproar,  but  she  did  not 
realise  this  because  her  hearing  had  been  de- 
stroyed. 

At  first  she  could  not  join  on  what  she  saw  to 
any  previous  experience. 

She  seemed  to  be  In  a  strange  world,  a  sound- 
less, ruinous  world,  a  world  of  heaped  broken 
things.  And  it  was  lit  —  and  somehow  this  was 
more  familiar  to  her  mind  than  any  other  fact 
about  her  —  by  a  flickering,  purplish-crimson 
light.  Then  close  to  her,  rising  above  a  confu- 
sion of  debris,  she  recognised  the  Trocadero;  it 
was  changed,  something  had  gone  from  it,  but  its 
outline  was  unmistakable.  It  stood  out  against 
a  streaming,  whirling  uprush  of  red-lit  steam. 
And  with  that  she  recalled  Paris  and  the  Seine 
and  the  warm,  overcast  evening  and  the  beautiful 
luminous  organisation  of  the  War  Control.   .   .   . 

She  drew  herself  a  little  way  up  the  slope  of 
earth  on  which  she  lay  and  examined  her  sur- 
roundings with  an  increasing  understanding.   .   .   . 

The  earth  on  which  she  was  lying  projected 
like  a  cape  into  the  river.  Quite  close  to  her 
was  a  brimming  lake  of  dammed-up  water,  from 
which  these  warm  rivulets  and  torrents  were  trick- 
ling. Wisps  of  vapour  came  into  circling  exist- 
ence a  foot  or  so  from  its  mirror-like  surface. 
Near  at  hand  and  reflected  exactly  in  the  water 

103 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

was  the  upper  part  of  a  familiar-looking  stone 
pillar.  On  the  side  of  her  away  from  the  water 
the  heaped  ruins  rose  steeply  in  a  confused  slope 
up  to  a  glaring  crest.  Above  and  reflecting  this 
glare  towered  pillowed  masses  of  steam  rolling 
swiftly  upward  to  the  zenith.  It  was  from  this 
crest  that  the  livid  glow  that  lit  the  world  about 
her  proceeded,  and  slowly  her  mind  connected  this 
mound  with  the  vanished  buildings  of  the  War 
Control. 

"Mais/"  she  whispered,  and  remained  with 
staring  eyes  quite  motionless  for  a  time,  crouching 
close  to  the  warm  earth. 

Then  presently  this  dim,  broken  human  thing 
began  to  look  about  it  again.  She  began  to  feel 
the  need  of  fellowship.  She  wanted  to  question, 
wanted  to  speak,  wanted  to  relate  her  experience. 
And  her  foot  hurt  her  atrociously.  There  ought 
to  be  an  ambulance.  A  little  gust  of  querulous 
criticisms  blew  across  her  mind.  This  surely  was 
a  disaster!  Always  after  a  disaster  there  should 
be  ambulances  and  helpers  moving  about.   .   .   . 

She  craned  her  head.  There  was  something 
there.     But  everything  was  so  still ! 

"  Monsieur/  "  she  cried.  Her  ears,  she  noted, 
felt  queer,  and  she  began  to  suspect  that  all  was 
not  well  with  them. 

It  was  terribly  lonely  in  this  chaotic  strange- 
104 


THE  LAST  WAR 

ness,  and  perhaps  this  man  —  if  it  was  a  man,  for 
it  was  difficult  to  see  —  might  for  all  his  stillness 
be  merely  insensible.  He  might  have  been 
stunned.   .   .   . 

The  leaping  glare  beyond  sent  a  ray  into  his 
corner  and  for  a  moment  every  little  detail  was 
distinct.  It  was  Marshal  Dubois.  He  was  lying 
against  a  huge  slab  of  the  war  map.  To  it  there 
stuck  and  from  it  there  dangled  little  wooden  ob- 
jects, symbols  of  infantry  and  cavalry  and  guns  as 
they  were  disposed  upon  the  frontier.  He  did  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  this  at  his  back,  he  had  an 
effect  of  Inattention,  not  indifferent  attention,  but 
as  if  he  were  thinking.   .  .   . 

She  could  not  see  the  eyes  beneath  his  shaggy 
brows,  but  it  was  evident  he  frowned.  He 
frowned  slightly,  he  had  an  air  of  not  wanting 
to  be  disturbed.  His  face  still  bore  that  expres- 
sion of  assured  confidence,  that  conviction  that  if 
things  were  left  to  him  France  might  obey  in  se- 
curity.  .   .   . 

She  did  not  cry  out  to  him  again,  but  she  crept 
a  little  nearer.  A  strange  surmise  made  her  eyes 
dilate.  With  a  painful  wrench,  she  pulled  her- 
self up  so  that  she  could  see  completely  over  the 
intervening  lumps  of  smashed-up  masonry.  Her 
hand  touched  something  wet,  and  after  one  con- 
vulsive movement  she  became  rigid. 

105 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

It  was  not  a  whole  man  there;  it  was  a  piece 
of  a  man,  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  that 
trailed  down  into  a  ragged  darkness  and  a  pool 
of  shining  black.   .  .  . 

And  even  as  she  stared  the  mound  above  her 
swayed  and  crumbled  and  a  rush  of  hot  water 
came  pouring  over  her.  Then  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  dragged  downward.   .   .   . 

§  3- 

When  the  rather  brutish  young  aviator  with 
the  bullet  head  and  the  black  hair  cropped  "  en 
brosse  "  who  was  in  charge  of  the  French  special 
scientific  corps  heard  presently  of  this  disaster  to 
the  War  Control,  he  was  so  wanting  in  imagina- 
tion in  any  sphere  but  his  own  that  he  laughed. 
Small  matter  to  him  that  Paris  was  burning.  His 
mother  and  father  and  sister  lived  at  Caudebec; 
and  the  only  sweetheart  he  had  ever  had,  and  it 
was  poor  love-making  then,  was  a  girl  in  Rouen. 
He  slapped  his  second-in-command  on  the  shoul- 
der. "  Now,"  he  said,  "  there's  nothing  on  earth 
to  stop  us  going  to  Berlin  and  giving  them  tit- 
for-tat.  .  .  .  Strategy  and  reasons  of  state  — 
they're  over.  .  .  .  Come  along,  my  boy,  and 
we'll  just  show  these  old  women  what  we  can  do 
when  they  let  us  have  our  heads." 

He  spent  five  minutes  telephoning,  and  then  he 
io6 


THE  LAST  WAR 

went  out  into  the  courtyard  of  the  chateau  in 
which  he  had  been  installed  and  shouted  for  his 
automobile.  Things  would  have  to  move  quickly, 
because  there  was  scarcely  an  hour  and  a  half  be- 
fore dawn.  He  looked  at  the  sky  and  noted  with 
satisfaction  a  heavy  bank  of  clouds  athwart  the 
pallid  east. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  infinite  shrewdness, 
and  his  material  and  aeroplanes  were  scattered 
all  over  the  countryside,  stuck  away  in  barns,  cov- 
ered with  hay,  hidden  in  woods.  A  hawk  could 
not  have  discovered  any  of  them  without  coming 
within  reach  of  a  gun.  But  that  night  he  only 
wanted  one  of  the  machines,  and  it  was  handy 
and  quite  prepared  under  a  tarpaulin  between  two 
ricks  not  a  couple  of  miles  away;  he  was  going 
to  Berlin  with  that  and  just  one  other  man.  Two 
men  would  be  enough  for  what  he  meant  to 
do.  .  .  . 

He  had  in  his  hands  the  black  complement  to 
all  those  other  gifts  science  was  urging  upon  un- 
regenerate  mankind,  the  gift  of  destruction,  and 
he  was  an  adventurous  rather  than  a  sympathetic 
type.  ... 

He  was  a  dark  young  man  with  something  ne- 
groid about  his  gleaming  face.  He  smiled  like 
one  who  is  favoured  and  anticipates  great  pleas- 
ures.    There  was  an  exotic  richness,  a  chuckling 

107 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

flavour,  about  the  voice  in  which  he  gave  his 
orders,  and  he  pointed  his  remarks  with  the  long 
finger  of  a  hand  that  was  hairy  and  exceptionally 
big. 

"  We'll     give     them     tit-for-tat,"     he     said. 

"  We'll  give  them  tit-for-tat.  No  time  to  lose, 
boys.  .  .  ." 

And  presently  over  the  cloud-banks  that  lay 
above  Westphalia  and  Saxony  the  swift  aeroplane, 
with  its  atomic  engine  as  noiseless  as  a  dancing 
sunbeam,  and  its  phosphorescent  gyroscopic  com- 
pass, flew  like  an  arrow  to  the  heart  of  the  Cen- 
tral European  hosts. 

It  did  not  soar  very  high;  it  skimmed  a  few 
hundred  feet  above  the  banked  darknesses  of 
cumulus  that  hid  the  world,  ready  to  plunge  at 
once  into  their  wet  obscurities  should  some  hostile 
flier  range  into  vision.  The  tense  young  steers- 
man divided  his  attention  between  the  guiding 
stars  above  and  the  level,  tumbled  surfaces  of  the 
vapour  strata  that  hid  the  world  below.  Over 
great  spaces  those  banks  lay  as  even  as  a  frozen 
lava-flow  and  almost  as  still,  and  then  they  were 
rent  by  ragged  areas  of  translucency,  pierced  by 
clear  chasms,  so  that  dim  patches  of  the  land  below 
gleamed  remotely  through  abysses.  Once  he  saw 
quite  distinctly  the  plan  of  a  big  railway  station 
outlined  in  lamps  and  signals,  and  once  the  flames 

io8 


THE  LAST  WAR 

of  a  burning  rick  showing  livid  through  a  boiling 
drift  of  smoke  on  the  side  of  some  great  hill. 
But  if  the  world  was  masked  it  was  alive  with 
sounds.  Up  through  that  vapour  floor  came  the 
deep  roar  of  trains,  the  whistles  of  horns  of  motor 
cars,  a  sound  of  rifle  fire  away  to  the  south,  and 
as  he  drew  near  his  destination  the  crowing  of 
cocks.  .  .  . 

The  sky  above  the  indistinct  horizons  of  this 
cloud  sea  was  at  first  starry  and  then  paler  with  a 
light  that  crept  from  north  to  east  as  the  dawn 
came  on.  The  Milky  Way  was  invisible  in  the 
blue,  and  the  lesser  stars  vanished.  The  face  of 
the  adventurer  at  the  steering-wheel,  darkly  visi- 
ble ever  and  again  by  the  oval  greenish  glow  of 
the  compass  face,  had  something  of  that  firm 
beauty  which  all  concentrated  purpose  gives,  and 
something  of  the  happiness  of  an  idiot  child  that 
has  at  last  got  hold  of  the  matches.  His  com- 
panion, a  less  imaginative  type,  sat  with  his  legs 
spread  wide  over  the  long,  coffin-shaped  box 
which  contained  in  its  compartments  the  three  . 
atomic  bombs,  the  new  bombs  that  would  continue  j 
to  explode  indefinitely  and  which  no  one  so  far 
had  ever  seen  in  action.  Hitherto  Carolinum, 
their  essential  substance,  had  been  tested  only  in 
almost  infinitesimal  quantities  within  steel  cham- 
bers embedded  in  lead.     Beyond  the  thought  of 

109 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

great  destruction  slumbering  in  the  black  spheres 
between  his  legs,  and  a  keen  resolve  to  follow  out 
very  exactly  the  instructions  that  had  been  given 
him,  the  man's  mind  was  a  blank.  His  aquiline 
profile  against  the  starlight  expressed  nothing  but 
a  profound  gloom. 

The  sky  below  grew  clearer  as  the  Central 
European  capital  was  approached. 

So  far  they  had  been  singularly  lucky  and  had 
been  challenged  by  no  aeroplanes  at  all.  The 
frontier  scouts  they  must  have  passed  in  the  night; 
probably  these  were  mostly  under  the  clouds;  the 
world  was  wide  and  they  had  had  luck  in  not  com- 
ing close  to  any  soaring  sentinel.  Their  machine 
was  painted  a  pale  grey  that  lay  almost  invisibly 
over  the  cloud  levels  below.  But  now  the  east 
was  flushing  with  the  near  ascent  of  the  sun. 
Berlin  was  but  a  score  of  miles  ahead,  and  the 
luck  of  the  Frenchmen  held.  By  imperceptible 
degrees  the  clouds  below  dissolved.   .   .   . 

Away  to  the  north-eastward  in  a  cloudless  pool 
of  gathering  light,  and  with  all  its  nocturnal  il- 
luminations still  blazing,  was  Berlin.  The  left 
finger  of  the  steersman  verified  roads  and  open 
spaces  below  upon  the  mica-covered  square  of 
map  that  was  fastened  by  his  wheel.  There,  in 
a  series  of  lake-like  expansions,  was  the  Havel 
away  to  the  right,  over  by  those  forests  must  be 

no 


THE  LAST  WAR 

Spandau;  there  the  river  split  about  the  Potsdam 
island,  and  right  ahead  was  Charlottenburg,  cleft 
by  a  great  thoroughfare  that  fell  like  an  indicating 
beam  of  light  straight  to  the  imperial  headquar- 
ters. There,  plain  enough,  was  the  Thiergarten; 
beyond  rose  the  imperial  palace,  and  to  the  right 
those  tall  buildings,  those  clustering,  be-flagged, 
be-masted  roofs,  must  be  the  offices  in  which  the 
Central  European  staff  was  housed.  It  was  all 
coldly  clear  and  colourless  in  the  dawn. 

He  looked  up  suddenly  as  a  humming  sound 
grew  out  of  nothing  and  became  swiftly  louder. 
Nearly  overhead  a  German  aeroplane  was  circling 
down  from  an  immense  height  to  challenge  him. 
He  made  a  gesture  with  his  left  arm  to  the 
gloomy  man  behind,  and  then  gripped  his  little 
wheel  with  both  hands,  crouched  over  it  and 
twisted  his  neck  to  look  upward.  He  was  at- 
tentive, tightly  strung,  but  quite  contemptuous  of 
their  ability  to  hurt  him.  No  German  alive  he 
was  assured  could  outfly  him,  or  indeed  any  one 
of  the  best  Frenchmen.  He  imagined  they  might 
strike  at  him  as  a  hawk  strikes,  but  they  were 
men  coming  down  out  of  the  bitter  cold  up  there, 
in  a  hungry,  spiritless  morning  mood;  they  came 
slanting  down  like  a  sword  swung  by  a  lazy  man, 
and  not  so  rapidly  but  that  he  was  able  to  slip 
away  from  under  them  and  get  between  them  and 

1 1 1 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Berlin.  They  began  challenging  him  in  German 
with  a  megaphone  when  they  were  still  perhaps  a 
mile  away.  The  words  came  to  him,  rolled  up 
into  a  mere  blob  of  hoarse  sound.  Then,  gath- 
ering alarm  from  his  grim  silence,  they  gave  chase 
and  swept  down,  a  hundred  yards  above  him,  per- 
haps, and  a  couple  of  hundred  behind.  They 
were  beginning  to  understand  what  he  was.  He 
ceased  to  watch  them  and  concentrated  himself 
on  the  city  ahead,  and  for  a  time  the  two  aero- 
planes raced.   .  .  . 

A  bullet  came  tearing  through  the  air  by  him, 
as  though  someone  was  tearing  paper.  A  second 
followed.     Something  tapped  the  machine. 

It  was  time  to  act.  The  broad  avenues,  the 
park,  the  palaces  below  rushed,  widening  out 
nearer  and  nearer  to  them. 

"  Ready!  "  said  the  steersman. 

The  gaunt  face  hardened  to  grimness,  and  with 
both  hands  the  bomb-thrower  lifted  the  big  atomic 
bomb  from  the  box  and  steadied  it  against  the 
side.  It  was  a  black  sphere  two  feet  in  diameter. 
Between  its  handles  was  a  little  celluloid  stud,  and 
to  this  he  bent  his  head  until  his  lips  touched  it. 
Then  he  had  to  bite  in  order  to  let  the  air  in  upon 
the  inducive.  Sure  of  its  accessibility,  he  craned 
his  neck  over  the  side  of  the  aeroplane  and  judged 
his  pace  and  distance.     Then  very  quickly  he  bent 

112 


THE  LAST  WAR 

forward,  bit  the  stud  and  hoisted  the  bomb  over 
the  side. 

"  Round,"  he  whispered  inaudibly. 

The  bomb  flashed  blinding  scarlet  in  mid-air 
and  fell,  a  descending  column  of  blaze  eddying 
spirally  in  the  midst  of  a  whirlwind.  Both  the 
aeroplanes  were  tossed  like  shuttlecocks,  hurled 
high  and  sideways;  and  the  steersman  with  gleam- 
ing eyes  and  set  teeth  fought  in  great  banking 
curves  for  a  balance.  The  gaunt  man  clung  tight 
with  hands  and  knees;  his  nostrils  dilated, 
his  teeth  biting  his  lips.  He  was  firmly 
strapped.  .  .  . 

When  he  could  look  down  again  it  was  like 
looking  down  upon  the  crater  of  a  small  volcano. 
In  the  open  garden  before  the  Imperial  castle  a 
shuddering  star  of  evil  splendour  spurted  and 
poured  up  smoke  and  flame  towards  them  like  an 
accusation.  They  were  too  high  to  distinguish 
people  clearly,  or  mark  the  bomb's  effect  upon 
the  building  until  suddenly  the  fagade  tottered 
and  crumbled  before  the  flare  as  sugar  dissolves 
in  water.  The  man  stared  for  a  moment,  showed 
all  his  long  teeth,  and  then  staggered  into  the 
cramped  standing  position  his  straps  permitted, 
hoisted  out  and  bit  another  bomb  and  sent  it 
down  after  its  fellow. 

The  explosion  came  this  time  more  directly  un- 
113 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

derneath  the  aeroplane  and  shot  it  upward  edge- 
ways. The  bomb  box  tipped  to  the  point  of 
disgorgement,  and  the  bomb-thrower  was  pitched 
forward  upon  the  third  bomb  with  his  face  close 
to  its  celluloid  stud.  He  clutched  its  handles  and 
with  a  sudden  gust  of  determination  that  the  thing 
should  not  escape  him,  bit  its  stud.  Before  he 
could  hurl  it  over,  the  monoplane  was  slipping 
sideways.  Everything  was  falling  sideways. 
Instinctively  he  gave  himself  up  to  gripping,  his 
body  holding  the  bomb  in  its  place. 

Then  that  bomb  had  exploded,  and  steersman, 
thrower,  and  aeroplane  were  just  flying  rags  and 
splinters  of  metal  and  drops  of  moisture  in  the 
air,  and  a  third  column  of  fire  rushed  eddying 
down  upon  the  doomed  buildings  below.   .   .   . 

§  4- 
Never  before  in  the  history  of  warfare  had 
there  been  a  continuing  explosive;  indeed,  up  to 
the  middle  of  the  twentieth  century  the  only  ex- 
plosives known  were  conbustibles  whose  explosive- 
ness  was  due  entirely  to  their  instantaneousness; 
and  these  atomic  bombs  which  science  burst  upon 
the  world  that  night  were  strange  even  to  the  men 
who  used  them.  Those  used  by  the  Allies  were 
lumps  of  pure  Carolinum,  painted  on  the  out- 
side with  unoxidised  cydonator  inducive  enclosed 

114 


THE  LAST  WAR 

hermetically  in  a  case  of  membranium.  A  little 
celluloid  stud  between  the  handles  by  which  the 
bomb  was  lifted  was  arranged  so  as  to  be  easily 
torn  off  and  admit  air  to  the  inducive,  which  at 
once  became  active  and  set  up  radio-activity  in 
the  outer  layer  of  the  Carolinum  sphere.  This 
liberated  fresh  inducive,  and  so  in  a  few  minutes 
the  whole  bomb  was  blazing  continual  explosion. 
The  Central  European  bombs  were  the  same,  ex- 
cept that  they  were  larger  and  had  a  more  com- 
plicated arrangement  for  animating  the  inducive. 
Always  before  in  the  development  of  warfare 
the  shells  and  rockets  fired  had  been  but  momen- 
tarily explosive,  they  had  gone  off  in  an  instant 
once  for  all,  and  if  there  was  nothing  living  or 
valuable  within  reach  of  the  concussion  and  the 
flying  fragments,  then  they  were  spent  and  over. 
But  Carolinum,  which  belonged  to  the  /?-Group 
of  Hyslop's  so-called  "  suspended  degenerator  " 
elements,  once  its  degenerative  process  had  been 
induced,  continued  a  furious  radiation  of  energy, 
and  nothing  could  arrest  it.  Of  all  Hyslop's  arti- 
ficial elements,  Carolinum  was  the  most  heavily 
stored  with  energy  and  the  most  dangerous  to 
make  and  handle.  To  this  day  it  remains  the 
most  potent  degenerator  known.  What  the  ear- 
lier twentieth-century  chemists  called  its  half  pe- 
riod was  seventeen  days;  that  is  to  say,  it  poured 

115 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

out  half  of  the  huge  store  of  energy  in  its  great 
molecules  in  the  space  of  seventeen  days,  the  next 
seventeen  days'  emission  was  a  half  of  that  first 
period's  outpouring,  and  so  on.  As  with  all  ra- 
dio-active substances,  this  Carolinum,  though 
every  seventeen  days  its  power  is  halved,  though 
constantly  it  diminishes  towards  the  imperceptible, 
is  never  entirely  exhausted,  and  to  this  day  the 
battle-fields  and  bomb-fields  of  that  frantic  time 
in  human  history  are  sprinkled  with  radiant  mat- 
ter and  so  centres  of  inconvenient  rays.   .   .   . 

What  happened  then  when  the  celluloid  stud 
was  opened  was  that  the  inducive  oxydised  and 
became  active.  Then  the  surface  of  the  Caro- 
linum began  to  degenerate.  This  degeneration 
passed  only  slowly  into  the  substance  of  the  bomb. 
A  moment  or  so  after  its  explosion  began  it  was 
still  mainly  an  inert  sphere  exploding  superficially, 
a  big,  inanimate  nucleus  wrapped  in  flame  and 
thunder.  Those  that  were  thrown  from  aero- 
planes fell  in  this  state;  they  reached  the  ground 
still  mainly  solid  and,  melting  soil  and  rock  in 
their  progress,  bored  into  the  earth.  There,  as 
more  and  more  of  the  Carolinum  became  active, 
the  bomb  spread  itself  out  into  a  monstrous  cav- 
ern of  fiery  energy  at  the  base  of  what  became 
very  speedily  a  miniature  active  volcano.  The 
Carolinum,  unable  to  disperse  freely,  drove  into 

ii6 


THE  LAST  WAR 

and  mixed  up  with  a  boiling  confusion  of  molten 
soil  and  superheated  steam,  and  so  remained, 
spinning  furiously  and  maintaining  an  eruption 
that  lasted  for  years  or  months  or  weeks  accord- 
ing to  the  size  of  the  bomb  employed  and  the 
chances  of  its  dispersal.  Once  launched,  the 
bomb  was  absolutely  unapproachable  and  uncon- 
trollable until  its  forces  were  nearly  exhausted, 
and  from  the  crater  that  burst  open  above  it,  puffs 
of  heavy  incandescent  vapour  and  fragments  of 
viciously  punitive  rock  and  mud,  saturated  with 
Carolinum,  and  each  a  centre  of  scorching  and 
blistering  energy,  were  flung  high  and  far. 

Such  was  the  crowning  triumph  of  military  sci- 
ence, the  ultimate  explosive,  that  was  to  give  the 
"  decisive  touch  "  to  war.   .  .   . 

§  5- 
A  recent  historical  writer  has  described  the 
world  of  that  time  as  one  that  "  believed  In  estab- 
lished words  and  was  Invincibly  blind  to  the  ob- 
vious In  things."  Certainly  it  seems  now  that 
nothing  could  have  been  more  obvious  to  the  peo- 
ple of  the  early  twentieth  century  than  the  rapid- 
ity with  which  war  was  becoming  impossible. 
And  as  certainly  they  did  not  see  It.  They  did 
not  see  It  until  the  atomic  bombs  burst  In  their 
fumbling  hands.     Yet  the  broad  facts  must  have 

117 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

glared  upon  any  intelligent  mind.  All  through 
the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  centuries  the  amount 
of  energy  that  men  were  able  to  command  was 
continually  increasing.  Applied  to  warfare  that 
meant  that  the  power  to  inflict  a  blow,  the  power 
to  destroy,  was  continually  increasing.  There 
was  no  increase  whatever  in  the  ability  to  escape. 
Every  sort  of  passive  defence,  armour,  fortifica- 
tions, and  so  forth,  was  being  outmastered  by  this 
tremendous  increase  on  the  destructive  side.  De- 
struction was  becoming  so  facile  that  any  little 
body  of  malcontents  could  use  it;  it  was  revolu- 
tionising the  problems  of  police  and  internal  rule. 
Before  the  last  war  began  it  was  a  matter  of  com- 
mon knowledge  that  a  man  could  carry  about  in 
a  handbag  an  amount  of  latent  energy  sufficient 
to  wreck  half  a  city.  These  facts  were  before 
the  minds  of  everybody;  the  children  in  the  streets 
knew  them.  And  yet  the  world  still,  as  the 
Americans  used  to  phrase  it,  "  fooled  around  " 
with  the  paraphernalia  and  pretensions  of  war. 

It  is  only  by  realising  this  profound,  this  fan- 
tastic divorce  between  the  scientific  and  intellec- 
tual movement  on  the  one  hand  and  the  world  of 
the  lawyer-politician  on  the  other  that  the  men  of 
a  later  time  can  hope  to  understand  this  prepos- 
terous state  of  affairs.  Social  organisation  was 
still  in  the  barbaric  stage.     There  were  already 

ii8 


THE  LAST  WAR 

great  numbers  of  actively  intelligent  men  and  much 
private  and  commercial  civilisation,  but  the  com- 
munity as  a  whole  was  aimless,  untrained,  and 
unorganised  to  the  pitch  of  imbecility.  Collec- 
tive civilisation,  the  "  Modern  State,"  was  still  in 
the  womb  of  the   future.   .   .   . 

§   6. 

But  let  us  return  to  Frederick  Barnet's  Wander 
Jahre  and  its  account  of  the  experiences  of  a  com- 
mon man  during  the  war  time.  While  these  ter- 
rific disclosures  of  scientific  possibility  were 
happening  in  Paris  and  Berlin,  Barnet  and  his 
company  were  industriously  entrenching  them- 
selves in  Belgian  Luxembourg. 

He  tells  of  the  mobilisation  and  of  his  sum- 
mer's day  journey  through  the  north  of  France 
and  the  Ardennes  in  a  few  vivid  phrases.  The 
country  was  browned  by  a  warm  summer,  the 
trees  a  little  touched  with  autumnal  colour,  and 
the  wheat  already  golden.  When  they  stopped 
for  an  hour  at  Hirson,  men  and  women  with  tri- 
color badges  upon  the  platform  distributed  cakes 
and  glasses  of  beer  to  the  thirsty  soldiers  and 
there  was  much  cheerfulness.  "  Such  good,  cool 
beer  it  was,"  he  wrote.  "  I  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  nor  drink  since  Epsom." 

A  number  of  monoplanes,  "  like  giant  swal- 
119 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

lows,"  he  notes  were  scouting  in  the  pink  evening 
sky. 

Barnet's  battalion  was  sent  through  the  Sedan 
country  to  a  place  called  Virton  and  thence  to  a 
point  in  the  woods  on  the  line  to  Jemelle.  Here 
they  detrained,  bivouacked  uneasily  by  the  rail- 
way—  trains  and  stores  were  passing  along  it  all 
night  —  and  next  morning  he  marched  eastward 
through  a  cold,  overcast  dawn  and  a  morning, 
first  cloudy  and  then  blazing,  over  a  large,  spa- 
cious countryside  interspersed  by  forest  towards 
Arlon. 

There  the  infantry  were  set  to  work  upon  a 
line  of  masked  entrenchments  and  hidden  rifle 
pits  between  St.  Hubert  and  Virton  that  were  de- 
signed to  check  and  delay  any  advance  from  the 
east  upon  the  fortified  line  of  the  Meuse.  They 
had  their  orders,  and  for  two  days  they  worked 
without  either  a  sight  of  the  enemy  or  any  suspi- 
cion of  the  disaster  that  had  abruptly  decapitated 
the  armies  of  Europe  and  turned  the  west  of  Paris 
and  the  centre  of  Berlin  into  blazing  miniatures 
of  the  destruction  of  Pompeii. 

And  the  news,  when  it  did  come,  came  attenu- 
ated. "  We  heard  there  had  been  mischief  with 
aeroplanes  and  bombs  in  Paris,"  Barnet  relates; 
"  but  it  didn't  seem  to  follow  that  '  They  '  weren't 
still  somewhere  elaborating  their  plans  and  issuing 

120 


THE  LAST  WAR 

orders.  When  the  enemy  began  to  emerge  from 
the  woods  in  front  of  us,  we  cheered  and  blazed 
away  and  didn't  trouble  much  more  about  anything 
but  the  battle  In  hand.  If  now  and  then  one 
cocked  up  an  eye  into  the  sky  to  see  what  was  hap- 
pening there,  the  rip  of  a  bullet  soon  brought  one 
down  to  the  horizontal  again.   .  .   ." 

That  battle  went  on  for  three  days  all  over  a 
great  stretch  of  country  between  Louvain  on  the 
north  and  Longwy  to  the  south.  It  was  essen- 
tially a  rifle  and  infantry  struggle.  The  aero- 
planes do  not  seem  to  have  taken  any  decisive 
share  in  the  actual  fighting  for  some  days,  though 
no  doubt  they  affected  the  strategy  from  the  first 
by  preventing  surprise  movements.  They  were 
aeroplanes  with  atomic  engines,  but  they  were  not 
provided  with  atomic  bombs,  which  were  mani- 
festly unsuitable  for  field  use,  nor  indeed  had  they 
any  very  efi^ective  kind  of  bomb.  And  though 
they  manoeuvred  against  each  other,  and  there 
was  rifle  shooting  at  them  and  between  them,  there 
was  little  actual  aerial  fighting.  Either  the  air- 
men were  indisposed  to  fight,  or  the  commanders 
on  both  sides  preferred  to  reserve  these  machines 
for  scouting.  .  .  . 

After  a  day  or  so  of  digging  and  scheming, 
Barnet  found  himself  in  the  forefront  of  a  battle. 
He  had  made  his  section  of  rifle  pits  chiefly  along 

121 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

a  line  of  deep,  dry  ditch  that  gave  a  means  of  inter- 
communication; he  had  had  the  earth  scattered 
over  the  adjacent  field,  and  he  had  masked  his 
preparations  with  tussocks  of  corn  and  poppy. 
The  hostile  advance  came  blindly  and  unsuspi- 
ciously across  the  fields  below  and  would  have 
been  cruelly  handled  indeed,  if  someone  away  to 
the  right  had  not  opened  fire  too  soon. 

"  It  was  a  queer  thrill  when  these  fellows  came 
into  sight,"  he  confesses,  "  and  not  a  bit  like 
manoeuvres.  They  halted  for  a  time  on  the  edge 
of  the  wood  and  then  came  forward  in  an  open 
line.  They  kept  walking  nearer  to  us  and  not 
looking  at  us,  but  away  to  the  right  of  us.  Even 
when  they  began  to  be  hit,  and  their  officers' 
whistles  woke  them  up,  they  didn't  seem  to  see 
us.  One  or  two  halted  to  fire  and  then  they  all 
went  back  towards  the  wood  again.  They  went 
slowly  at  first,  looking  round  at  us,  then  the  shel- 
ter of  the  wood  seemed  to  draw  them  and  they 
trotted.  I  fired  rather  mechanically  and  missed, 
then  I  fired  again,  and  then  I  became  earnest  to 
hit  something,  made  sure  of  my  sighting,  and 
aimed  very  carefully  at  a  blue  back  that  was  dodg- 
ing about  in  the  corn.  At  first  I  couldn't  satisfy 
myself  and  didn't  shoot,  his  movements  were  so 
spasmodic  and  uncertain;  then  I  think  he  came  to 
a  ditch  or  some  such  obstacle  and  halted  for  a 

122 


THE  LAST  WAR 

moment.  '  Got  you,'  I  whispered  and  pulled 
the  trigger. 

"  I  had  the  strangest  sensations  about  that  man. 
In  the  first  instance,  when  I  felt  that  I  had  hit 
him,  I  was  irradiated  with  joy  and  pride.   .  .  . 

"  I  sent  him  spinning.  He  jumped  and  threw 
up  his  arms.   .   .   . 

"  Then  I  saw  the  corn  tops  waving  and  had 
glimpses  of  him  flapping  about.  Suddenly  I  felt 
sick.     I  hadn't  killed  him.  .   .   . 

"  In  some  way  he  was  disabled  and  smashed 
up  and  yet  able  to  struggle  about.  I  began  to 
think.   .  .  . 

"  For  nearly  two  hours  that  Prussian  was  ago- 
nising in  the  corn.  Either  he  was  calling  out  or 
someone  was  shouting  to  him.   .   .   . 

"  Then  he  jumped  up, —  he  seemed  to  try  and 
get  up  upon  his  feet  with  one  last  effort;  and 
then  he  fell  like  a  sack  and  lay  quite  still  and 
never  moved  again. 

"  He  had  been  unendurable,  and  I  believe 
someone  had  shot  him  dead.  I  had  been  wanting 
to  do  so  for  some  time.   .   .   ." 

The  enemy  began  sniping  the  rifle  pits  from 
shelters  they  made  for  themselves  in  the  woods 
below.  A  man  was  hit  in  the  pit  next  to  Barnet 
and  began  cursing  and  crying  out  in  a  violent 
rage.     Barnet  crawled  along  the  ditch  to  him  and 

123 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

found  him  In  great  pain,  covered  with  blood, 
frantic  with  indignation  and  with  the  half  of  his 
right  hand  smashed  to  a  pulp.  "  Look  at  this," 
he  kept  repeating,  hugging  it  and  then  extending 
it.  "  Damned  foolery!  Damned  foolery!  My 
right  hand,  sir!      My  right  hand!  " 

For  some  time  Barnet  could  do  nothing  with 
him.  The  man  was  consumed  by  his  tortured 
realisation  of  the  evil  silliness  of  war,  the  realisa- 
tion which  had  come  upon  him  In  a  flash  with  the 
bullet  that  had  destroyed  his  skill  and  use  as  an 
artificer  for  ever.  He  was  looking  at  the  ves- 
tiges with  a  horror  that  made  him  impenetrable  to 
any  other  Idea.  At  last  the  poor  wretch  let  Bar- 
net  tie  up  his  bleeding  stump  and  help  him  along 
the  ditch  that  conducted  him  deviously  out  of 
range.   ... 

When  Barnet  returned,  his  men  were  already 
calling  out  for  water,  and  all  day  long  the  line 
of  pits  suffered  greatly  from  thirst.  For  food 
they  had  chocolate  and  bread. 

*'  At  first,"  he  says,  "  I  was  extraordinarily  ex- 
cited by  my  baptism  of  fire.  Then,  as  the  heat 
of  the  day  came  on,  I  experienced  an  enormous 
tedium  and  discomfort.  The  flies  became  ex- 
tremely troublesome  and  my  little  grave  of  a 
rifle  pit  was  invaded  by  ants.  I  could  not  get  up 
or  move  about,  for  someone  In  the  trees  had  got 

124 


THE  LAST  WAR 

a  mark  on  me.  I  kept  thinking  of  the  dead  Prus- 
sian down  among  the  corn  and  of  the  bitter  out- 
cries of  my  own  man.  Damned  foolery !  It  was 
Damned  foolery.  But  who  was  to  blame?  How 
had  we  got  to  this?  .   .  . 

"  Early  in  the  afternoon  an  aeroplane  tried  to 
dislodge  us  with  dynamite  bombs,  but  she  was  hit 
by  bullets  once  or  twice  and  suddenly  dived  down 
over  beyond  the  trees. 

"  '  From  Holland  to  the  Alps  this  day,'  I 
thought,  '  there  must  be  crouching  and  lying  be- 
tween half  and  a  million  men,  trying  to  inflict 
irreparable  damage  upon  one  another.  The 
thing  is  idiotic  to  the  pitch  of  impossibility.  It  is 
a  dream.     Presently  I  shall  wake  up.   .   .   .' 

"  Then  the  phrase  changed  itself  in  my  mind. 
'  Presently  mankind  will  wake  up.' 

"  I  lay  speculating  just  how  many  thousands  of 
men  there  were  among  these  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands, whose  spirits  were  in  rebellion  against  all 
these  ancient  traditions  of  flag  and  empire. 
Weren't  we,  perhaps,  already  in  the  throes  of  the 
last  crisis,  in  that  darkest  moment  of  a  nightmare's 
horror  before  the  sleeper  will  endure  no  more  of 
it  —  and  wakes? 

"  I  don't  know  how  my  speculations  ended.  I 
think  they  were  not  so  much  ended  as  distracted 

125 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

by  the   distant  thudding  of  the  guns   that  were 
opening  fire  at  long  range  upon  Namur." 

§   7. 

But  as  yet  Barnet  had  seen  no  more  than  the 
mildest  beginnings  of  modern  warfare.  So  far  he 
had  taken  part  only  in  a  little  shooting.  The  bay- 
onet attack  by  which  the  advanced  line  was  broken 
was  made  at  a  place  called  Croix  Rouge,  more 
than  twenty  miles  away,  and  that  night,  under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  the  rifle  pits  were  aban- 
doned and  he  got  his  company  away  without 
further  loss. 

His  regiment  fell  back  unpressed  behind  the 
fortified  lines  between  Namur  and  Sedan,  en- 
trained at  a  station  called  Mettet,  and  was  sent 
northward  by  Antwerp  and  Rotterdam  to  Haar- 
lem. Hence  they  marched  into  North  Holland. 
It  was  only  after  the  march  into  Holland  that  he 
began  to  realise  the  monstrous  and  catastrophic 
nature  of  the  struggle  in  which  he  was  playing  his 
undistinguished  part. 

He  describes  very  pleasantly  the  journey 
through  the  hills  and  open  land  of  Brabant,  the 
repeated  crossing  of  arms  of  the  Rhine,  and  the 
change  from  the  undulating  scenery  of  Belgium  to 
the  flat,  rich  meadows,  the  sunlit  dyke  roads,  and 
the  countless  windmills  of  the  Dutch  levels.     In 

126 


THE  LAST  WAR 

those  days  there  was  unbroken  land  from  Alk- 
maar  and  Leiden  to  the  Dollart.  Three  great 
provinces,  South  Holland,  North  Holland,  and 
Zuiderzee-land,  reclaimed  at  various  times  be- 
tween the  early  tenth  century  and  1945,  and  all 
many  feet  below  the  level  of  the  waves  outside 
the  dykes,  spread  out  their  lush  polders  to  the 
northern  sun  and  sustained  a  dense  industrious 
population.  An  intricate  web  of  laws  and  cus- 
tom and  tradition  ensured  a  perpetual  vigilance 
and  a  perpetual  defence  against  the  beleaguering 
sea.  For  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
from  Walcheren  to  Friesland  stretched  a  line  of 
embankments  and  pumping  stations  that  was  the 
admiration  of  the  world. 

If  some  curious  god  had  chosen  to  watch  the 
course  of  events  in  those  northern  provinces  while 
that  flanking  march  of  the  British  was  in  progress, 
he  would  have  found  a  convenient  and  appropriate 
seat  for  his  observation  upon  one  of  the  great 
cumulous  clouds  that  were  drifting  slowly  across 
the  blue  sky  during  all  these  eventful  days  before 
the  great  catastrophe.  For  that  was  the  quality 
of  the  weather, —  hot  and  clear,  with  something 
of  a  breeze,  and  underfoot  dry  and  a  little  inclined 
to  be  dusty.  This  watching  god  would  have 
looked  down  upon  broad  stretches  of  sunlit  green, 
sunlit  save   for  the  creeping  patches  of  shadow 

127 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

cast  by  the  clouds,  upon  sky-reflecting  meres, 
fringed  and  divided  up  by  masses  of  willow  and 
large  areas  of  silvery  weeds,  upon  white  roads 
lying  bare  to  the  sun  and  upon  a  tracery  of  blue 
canals.  The  pastures  were  alive  with  cattle,  the 
roads  had  a  busy  traffic  of  beasts  and  bicycles  and 
gaily  coloured  peasants'  automobiles,  the  hues  of 
the  innumerable  motor  barges  in  the  canal  vied 
with  the  eventfulness  of  the  roadways;  and  every- 
where in  solitary  steadings,  amidst  ricks  and  barns. 
In  groups  by  the  wayside,  in  straggling  villages, 
each  with  its  fine  old  church,  or  in  compact  towns 
laced  with  canals  and  abounding  in  bridges  and 
clipped  trees,  were  human  habitations. 

The  people  of  this  countryside  were  not  bellig- 
erents. The  interests  and  sympathies  alike  of 
Holland  had  been  so  divided  that  to  the  end  she 
remained  undecided  and  passive  In  the  struggle  of 
the  world  Powers.  And  everywhere  along  the 
roads  taken  by  the  marching  armies  clustered 
groups  and  crowds  of  Impartially  observant  spec- 
tators, women  and  children  In  peculiar  white  caps 
and  old-fashioned  sabots,  and  elderly  clean-shaven 
men  quietly  thoughtful  over  their  long  pipes. 
They  had  no  fear  of  their  Invaders ;  the  days  when 
"  soldiering  "  meant  bands  of  licentious  looters 
had  long  since  passed  away.   .   .   . 

That  watcher  among  the  clouds  would  have 
128 


THE  LAST  WAR 

seen  a  great  distribution  of  khaki-uniformed  men 
and  khaki-painted  material  over  the  whole  of  the 
sunken  area  of  Holland.  He  would  have  marked 
the  long  trains,  packed  with  men  or  piled  with 
great  guns  and  war  material,  creeping  slowly,  alert 
for  train-wreckers,  along  the  north-going  lines ;  he 
would  have  seen  the  Scheldt  and  Rhine  choked 
with  shipping  and  pouring  out  still  more  men  and 
still  more  material;  he  would  have  noticed  halts 
and  provisionlngs  and  detralnments,  and  the  long, 
bustling  caterpillars  of  cavalry  and  infantry,  the 
maggot-like  waggons,  the  huge  beetles  of  great 
guns,  crawling  under  the  poplars  along  the  dykes 
and  roads  northward,  along  ways  lined  by  the 
neutral,  unmolested,  ambiguously  observant  Dutch, 
All  the  barges  and  shipping  upon  the  canals  had 
been  requisitioned  for  transport.  In  that  clear, 
bright,  warm  weather  it  would  all  have  looked 
from  above  like  some  extravagant  festival  of  ani- 
mated toys. 

As  the  sun  sank  westward  the  spectacle  must 
have  become  a  little  indistinct  because  of  a  golden 
haze;  everything  must  have  become  warmer  and 
more  glowing,  and  because  of  the  lengthening  of 
the  shadows  more  manifestly  in  relief.  The 
shadows  of  the  tall  churches  grew  longer  and 
longer  until  they  touched  the  horizon  and  mingled 
in  the  universal  shadow;  and  then,  slow,  and  soft, 

129 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  wrapping  the  world  in  fold  after  fold  of  deep- 
ening blue,  came  the  night, —  the  night  at  first 
obscurely  simple,  and  then  with  faint  points  here 
and  there,  and  then  jewelled  in  darkling  splendour 
with  a  hundred  thousand  lights.  Out  of  that  min- 
gling of  darkness  and  ambiguous  glares  the  noise 
of  an  unceasing  activity  would  have  arisen,  the 
louder  and  plainer  now  because  there  was  no 
longer  any  distraction  of  sight. 

It  may  be  that  watcher,  drifting  in  the  pellucid 
gulf  beneath  the  stars,  watched  all  through  the 
night;  it  may  be  that  he  dozed.  But  if  he  gave 
way  to  so  natural  a  proclivity,  assuredly  on  the 
fourth  night  of  the  great  flank  march  he  was 
aroused,  for  that  was  the  night  of  the  battle  in  the 
air  that  decided  the  fate  of  Holland. 

The  aeroplanes  were  fighting  at  last,  and  sud- 
denly about  him,  above  and  below,  with  cries  and 
uproar  rushing  out  of  the  four  quarters  of  heaven, 
striking,  plunging,  oversetting,  soaring  to  the 
zenith  and  dropping  to  the  ground,  they  came  to 
assail  or  defend  the  myriads  below. 

Secretly  the  Central  European  Power  had  gath- 
ered his  flying  machines  together,  and  now  he 
threw  them  as  a  giant  might  fling  a  handful  of 
ten  thousand  knives  over  the  low  country.  And 
amidst  that  swarming  flight  were  five  that  drove 
headlong  for  the  sea  walls  of  Holland,  carrying 

130 


THE  LAST  WAR 

atomic  bombs.  From  north  and  west  and  south 
the  allied  aeroplanes  rose  in  response  and  swept 
down  upon  this  sudden  attack.  So  it  was  that  war 
in  the  air  began.  Men  rode  upon  the  whirlwind 
that  night  and  slew  and  fell  like  archangels.  The 
sky  rained  heroes  upon  the  astonished  earth. 
Surely  the  last  fights  of  mankind  were  the  best. 
What  was  the  heavy  pounding  of  your  Homeric 
swordsmen,  what  was  the  creaking  charge  of  chari- 
ots, beside  this  swift  rush,  this  crash,  this  giddy 
triumph,  this  headlong  swoop  to  death? 

And  then  athwart  this  whirling  rush  of  aerial 
duels  that  swooped  and  locked  and  dropped  in  the 
void  between  the  lamp-lights  and  the  stars  came 
a  great  wind  and  a  crash  louder  than  thunder,  and 
first  one  and  then  a  score  of  lengthening  fiery  ser- 
pents plunged  hungrily  down  upon  the  Dutchmen's 
dykes  and  struck  between  land  and  sea  and  flared 
up  again  in  enormous  columns  of  glare  and  crim- 
soned smoke  and  steam. 

And  out  of  the  darkness  leapt  the  little  land, 
with  its  spires  and  trees,  aghast  with  terror,  still 
and  distinct,  and  the  sea,  tumbled  with  anger,  red- 
foaming  like  a  sea  of  blood.   .   .  . 

Over  the  populous  country  below  went  a  strange 
multitudinous  crying  and  a  flurry  of  alarm 
bells.   .   .   . 

The  surviving  aeroplanes  turned  about  and  fled 

131 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

out  of  the  sky,  like  things  that  suddenly  know 
themselves  to  be  wicked.  .  .  . 

Through  a  dozen  thunderously  flaming  gaps 
that  no  water  might  quench  the  waves  came  roar- 
ing in  upon  the  land.  .  .  . 

§  8. 

"  We  had  cursed  our  luck,"  says  Barnet,  "  that 
we  could  not  get  to  our  quarters  at  Alkmaar  that 
night.  There,  we  were  told,  were  provisions,  to- 
bacco, and  everything  for  which  we  craved.  But 
the  main  canal  from  Zaandam  and  Amsterdam 
was  hopelessly  jammed  with  craft,  and  we  were 
glad  of  a  chance  opening  that  enabled  us  to  get 
out  of  the  main  column  and  lie  up  in  a  kind  of 
little  harbour  very  much  neglected  and  weedgrown 
before  a  deserted  house.  We  broke  into  this  and 
found  some  herrings  in  a  barrel,  a  heap  of  cheeses, 
and  stone  bottles  of  gin  In  the  cellar;  and  with  this 
I  cheered  my  starving  men.  We  made  fires  and 
toasted  the  cheese  and  grilled  our  herrings.  None 
of  us  had  slept  for  nearly  forty  hours,  and  I  de- 
termined to  stay  in  this  refuge  until  dawn,  and 
then,  if  the  traffic  was  still  choked,  leave  the  barge 
and  march  the  rest  of  the  way  into  Alkmaar. 

"  This  place  we  had  got  into  was  perhaps  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  canal,  and  underneath  a 
little  brick  bridge  we  could  see  the  flotilla  still  and 

132 


THE  LAST  WAR 

hear  the  voices  of  the  soldiers.  Presently  five  or 
six  other  barges  came  through  and  lay  up  in  the 
mere  near  by  us,  and  with  two  of  these,  full  of 
men  of  the  Antrim  regiment,  I  shared  my  find  of 
provisions.  In  return  we  got  tobacco.  A  large 
expanse  of  water  spread  to  the  westward  of  us, 
and  beyond  were  a  cluster  of  roofs  and  one  or 
two  church  towers.  The  barge  was  rather 
cramped  for  so  many  men,  and  I  let  several  squads, 
thirty  or  forty  perhaps  altogether,  bivouac  on  the 
bank.  I  did  not  let  them  go  into  the  house  on 
account  of  the  furniture,  and  I  left  a  note  of  in- 
debtedness for  the  food  we  had  taken.  We  were 
particularly  glad  of  our  tobacco  and  fires,  because 
of  the  numerous  mosquitos  that  rose  about  us. 

"  The  gate  of  the  house  from  which  we  had 
provisioned  ourselves  was  adorned  with  the  legend 
Vreugde  hi]  Vrede,  '  joy  with  peace,'  and  it  bore 
every  mark  of  the  busy  retirement  of  a  comfort- 
loving  proprietor.  I  went  along  his  garden,  which 
was  gay  and  delightful  with  big  bushes  of  rose 
and  sweet  briar,  to  a  quaint  little  summerhouse, 
and  there  I  sat  and  watched  the  men  in  groups 
cooking  and  squatting  along  the  bank.  The  sun 
was  setting  in  a  nearly  cloudless  sky. 

"  For  the  last  two  weeks  I  had  been  a  wholly 
occupied  man,  intent  only  upon  obeying  the  orders 
that  came  down  to  me.     All  through  this  time  I 

133 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Kad  been  working  to  the  very  limit  of  my  mental 
and  physical  faculties  and  my  only  moments  of 
rest  had  been  devoted  to  snatches  of  sleep.  Now 
came  this  rare,  unexpected  interlude  and  I  could 
look  detachedly  upon  what  I  was  doing  and  feel 
something  of  its  infinite  wonderfulness.  I  was 
irradiated  with  affection  for  the  men  of  my  com- 
pany and  with  admiration  at  their  cheerful  acqui- 
escence in  the  subordination  and  needs  of  our  posi- 
tion. I  watched  their  proceedings  and  heard  their 
pleasant  voices.  How  willing  those  men  were! 
How  ready  to  accept  leadership  and  forget  them- 
selves in  collective  ends  !  I  thought  how  manfully 
they  had  gone  through  all  the  strains  and  toil  of 
the  last  two  weeks,  how  they  had  toughened  and 
shaken  down  to  comradeship  together,  and  how 
much  sweetness  there  is,  after  all,  in  our  foolish 
human  blood.  For  they  were  just  one  casual  sam- 
ple of  the  species, —  their  patience  and  readiness 
lay,  as  the  energy  of  the  atom  had  lain,  still  waiting 
to  be  properly  utilised.  Again  it  came  to  me  with 
overpowering  force  that  the  supreme  need  of  our 
race  is  leading,  that  the  supreme  task  is  to  dis- 
cover leading,  to  forget  oneself  in  realising  the 
collective  purpose  of  the  race.  Once  more  I  saw 
life  plain.   .  .  ." 

Very  characteristic  is  that  of  the  "  rather  too 
corpulent  "  young  officer,  who  was  afterwards  to 

134 


THE  LAST  WAR 

set  It  all  down  In  the  Wander  Jahre.  Very  char- 
acteristic, too,  It  Is  of  the  change  In  men's  hearts 
that  was  even  then  preparing  a  new  phase  of  hu- 
man history. 

He  goes  on  to  write  of  the  escape  from  Indi- 
viduality in  science  and  service  and  of  his  discovery 
of  this  "  salvation."  All  that  was  then  no  doubt 
very  moving  and  original;  now  it  seems  only  the 
most  obvious  commonplace  of  human  life. 

The  glow  of  the  sunset  faded,  the  twilight  deep- 
ened into  night.  The  fires  burnt  the  brighter,  and 
some  Irishmen  away  across  the  mere  started  sing- 
ing. But  Barnet's  men  were  too  weary  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  soon  the  bank  and  the  barge 
were  heaped  with  sleeping  forms. 

"  I  alone  seemed  unable  to  sleep.  I  suppose  I 
was  over-weary,  and  after  a  little  feverish  slumber 
by  the  tiller  of  the  barge  I  sat  up,  awake  and 
uneasy.   .   .   . 

"  That  night  Holland  seemed  all  sky.  There 
was  just  a  little  black  lower  rim  to  things,  a  steeple 
perhaps  or  a  line  of  poplars,  and  then  the  great 
hemisphere  swept  over  us.  And  at  first  the  sky 
was  empty.  Yet  my  uneasiness  referred  Itself  In 
some  vague  way  to  the  sky. 

"And  now  I  was  melancholy.  I  found  some- 
thing strangely  sorrowful  and  submissive  In  the 
sleepers  all  about  me,  those  men  who  had  marched 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

so  far,  who  had  left  all  the  established  texture  of 
their  lives  behind  them  to  come  upon  this  mad 
campaign,  this  campaign  that  signified  nothing  and 
consumed  everything,  this  mere  fever  of  fighting. 
I  saw  how  little  and  feeble  is  the  life  of  man,  a 
thing  of  chances,  preposterously  unable  to  find  the 
will  to  realise  even  the  most  timid  of  its  dreams. 
And  I  wondered  if  always  it  would  be  so,  if  man 
was  a  doomed  animal  who  would  never  to  the  last 
days  of  his  time  take  hold  of  fate  and  change  it 
to  his  will.  Always,  it  may  be,  he  will  remain 
kindly  but  jealous,  desirous  but  discursive,  able 
and  unwisely  impulsive,  until  Saturn  who  begot 
him  shall  devour  him  in  his  turn.   .   .  . 

"  I  was  roused  from  these  thoughts  by  the  sud- 
den realisation  of  the  presence  of  a  squadron  of 
aeroplanes  far  away  to  the  north-east  and  very 
high.  They  looked  like  little  black  dashes  against 
the  midnight  blue.  I  remember  that  I  looked  up 
at  them  at  first  rather  idly  —  as  one  might  notice 
a  flight  of  birds.  Then  I  perceived  that  they  were 
only  the  extreme  wing  of  a  great  fleet  that  was  ad- 
vancing in  a  long  line  very  swiftly  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  frontier,  and  my  attention  tightened. 

"  Directly  I  saw  that  fleet  I  was  astonished  not 
to  have  seen  it  before. 

"  I  stood  up  softly,  undesirous  of  disturbing 
my  companions,  but  with  my  heart  beating  now 

136 


THE  LAST  WAR 

rather  more  rapidly  with  surprise  and  excitement. 
I  strained  my  ears  for  any  sound  of  guns  along 
our  front.  Almost  instinctively  I  turned  about  for 
protection  to  the  south  and  west,  and  peered;  and 
then  I  saw  coming  as  fast  and  much  nearer  to  me, 
as  if  they  had  sprung  out  of  the  darkness,  three 
banks  of  aeroplanes;  a  group  of  squadrons  very 
high,  a  main  body  at  a  height  perhaps  of  one  or 
two  thousand  feet,  and  a  doubtful  number  flying 
low  and  very  indistinct.  The  middle  ones  were 
so  thick  they  kept  putting  out  groups  of  stars. 
And  I  realised  that,  after  all,  there  was  to  be  fight- 
ing in  the  air. 

"  There  was  something  extraordinarily  strange 
in  this  swift,  noiseless  convergence  of  nearly  in- 
visible combatants  above  the  sleeping  hosts.  Ev- 
eryone about  me  was  still  unconscious;  there  was 
no  sign  as  yet  of  any  agitation  among  the  ship- 
ping on  the  main  canal,  whose  whole  course,  dotted 
with  unsuspicious  lights  and  fringed  with  fires, 
must  have  been  clearly  perceptible  from  above. 
Then  a  long  way  off  towards  Alkmaar  I  heard 
bugles,  and  after  that  shots,  and  then  a  wild 
clamour  of  bells.  I  determined  to  let  my  men 
sleep  on  for  as  long  as  they  could.   .  .   . 

"  The  battle  was  joined  with  the  swiftness  of 
dreaming.  I  do  not  think  it  can  have  been  five 
minutes   from  the  moment  when  I  first  became 

137 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

aware  of  the  Central  European  air  fleet  to  the  con- 
tact of  the  two  forces.  I  saw  it  quite  plainly  in 
silhouette  against  the  luminous  blue  of  the  northern 
sky.  The  allied  aeroplanes  —  they  were  mostly 
French  —  came  pouring  down  like  a  fierce  shower 
upon  the  middle  of  the  Central  European  fleet. 
They  looked  exactly  like  a  coarser  sort  of  rain. 
There  was  a  crackling  sound  —  the  first  sound  I 
heard  —  it  reminded  one  of  the  Aurora  Borealis, 
and  I  suppose  it  was  an  interchange  of  rifle  shots. 
There  were  flashes  like  summer  lightning;  and 
then  all  the  sky  became  a  whirling  confusion  of 
battle  that  was  still  largely  noiseless.  Some  of 
the  Central  European  aeroplanes  were  certainly 
charged  and  overset;  others  seemed  to  collapse  and 
fall  and  then  flare  out  with  so  bright  a  light  that 
it  took  the  edge  off  one's  vision  and  made  the  rest 
of  the  battle  disappear  as  though  it  had  been 
snatched  back  out  of  sight. 

"  And  then,  while  I  still  peered  and  tried  to 
shade  these  flames  from  my  eyes  with  my  hand, 
and  while  the  men  about  me  were  beginning  to 
stir,  the  atomic  bombs  were  thrown  at  the  dykes. 
They  made  a  mighty  thunder  in  the  air,  and  fell 
like  Lucifer  in  the  picture,  leaving  a  flaring  trail 
in  the  sky.  The  night,  which  had  been  pellucid 
and  detailed  and  eventful,  seemed  to  vanish,  to  be 


138 


THE  LAST  WAR 

replaced  abruptly  by  a  black  background  to  these 
tremendous  pillars  of  fire.  .  .  . 

"  Hard  upon  the  sound  of  them  came  a  roaring 
wind,  and  the  sky  was  filled  with  flickering  light- 
nings and  rushing  clouds.  .  .  . 

"  There  was  something  discontinuous  in  this  im- 
pact. At  one  moment  I  was  a  lonely  watcher  in 
a  sleeping  world;  the  next  saw  everyone  about 
me  afoot,  the  whole  world  awake  and 
amazed.   .   .  . 

"  And  then  the  wind  had  struck  me  a  buffet, 
taken  my  helmet  and  swept  aside  the  summerhouse 
of  Vreugde  hi]  Vrede,  as  a  scythe  sweeps  away 
grass.  I  saw  the  bombs  fall,  and  then  watched 
a  great  crimson  flare  leap  responsive  to  each  im- 
pact, and  mountainous  masses  of  red-lit  steam  and 
flying  fragments  clamber  up  towards  the  zenith. 
Against  the  glare  I  saw  the  countryside  for  miles 
standing  black  and  clear,  churches,  trees,  chimneys. 
And  suddenly  I  understood.  The  Central  Euro- 
peans had  burst  the  dykes.  Those  flares  meant  the 
bursting  of  the  dykes,  and  in  a  little  while  the 
sea-water  would  be  upon  us.   .   .  ." 

He  goes  on  to  tell  with  a  certain  prolixity  of  the 
steps  he  took, —  and  all  things  considered  they 
were  very  intelligent  steps  —  to  meet  this  amazing 
crisis.  He  got  his  men  aboard  and  hailed  the  ad- 
jacent barges;  he  got  the  man  who  acted  as  barge 

139 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

engineer  at  his  post  and  the  engines  working,  he 
cast  loose  from  his  moorings.  Then  he  bethought 
himself  of  food  and  contrived  to  land  five  men, 
get  in  a  few  dozen  cheeses  and  ship  his  men  again 
before  the  inundation  reached  them. 

He  is  reasonably  proud  of  this  piece  of  coolness. 
His  idea  was  to  take  the  wave  head-on  and  with 
his  engines  full  speed  ahead.  And  all  the  while 
he  was  thanking  heaven  he  was  not  in  the  jam  of 
traffic  in  the  main  canal.  He  rather,  I  think,  over- 
estimated the  probable  rush  of  waters;  he  dreaded 
being  swept  away,  he  explains,  and  smashed 
against  houses  and  trees. 

He  does  not  give  any  estimate  of  the  time  it 
took  between  the  bursting  of  the  dyke  and  the 
arrival  of  the  waters,  but  it  was  probably  an  in- 
terval of  about  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour. 
He  was  working  now  in  darkness  —  save  for  the 
light  of  his  lantern  —  and  in  a  great  wind.  He 
hung  out  head  and  stern  lights.   .   .   . 

Whirling  torrents  of  steam  were  pouring  up 
from  the  advancing  waters,  which  had  rushed,  it 
must  be  remembered,  through  nearly  incandescent 
gaps  in  the  sea  defences,  and  this  vast  uprush  of 
vapour  soon  veiled  the  flaring  centres  of  explosion 
altogether. 

"  The  waters  came  at  last,  an  advancing  cas- 
cade.    It  was  like  a  broad  roller  sweeping  across 

140 


THE  LAST  WAR 

the  country.  They  came  with  a  deep  roaring 
sound.  I  had  expected  a  Niagara,  but  the  total 
fall  of  the  front  could  not  have  been  much  more 
than  twelve  feet.  Our  barge  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment, took  a  dose  over  her  bows,  and  then  lifted. 
I  signalled  for  full  speed  ahead  and  brought  her 
head  up  stream,  and  held  on  like  grim  death  to 
keep  her  there. 

"  There  was  a  wind  about  as  strong  as  the  flood, 
and  I  found  we  were  pounding  against  every  con- 
ceivable buoyant  object  that  had  been  between  us 
and  the  sea.  The  only  light  in  the  world  now 
came  from  our  lamps,  the  steam  became  impen- 
etrable at  a  score  of  yards  from  the  boat,  and 
the  roar  of  the  wind  and  water  cut  us  off  from 
all  remoter  sounds.  The  black  shining  waters 
swirled  by,  coming  into  the  light  of  our  lamps 
out  of  an  ebony  blackness  and  vanishing  again  into 
impenetrable  black.  And  on  the  waters  came 
shapes,  came  things  that  flashed  upon  us  for  a 
moment,  now  a  half-submerged  boat,  now  a  cow, 
now  a  huge  fragment  of  a  house's  timberings, 
now  a  muddle  of  packing-cases  and  scaffolding. 
The  things  clapped  into  sight  like  something 
shown  by  the  opening  of  a  shutter,  and  then 
bumped  shatteringly  against  us  or  rusiied  by  us. 
Once  I  saw  very  clearly  a  man's  white  face.  .  .  . 
All  the  while  a  group  of  labouring,  half-submerged 

141 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

trees  remained  ahead  of  us,  drawing  very  slowly 
nearer.  I  steered  a  course  to  avoid  them.  They 
seemed  to  gesticulate  a  frantic  despair  against  the 
black  steam  clouds  behind.  Once  a  great  branch 
detached  itself  and  tore  shuddering  by  me.  We 
did  on  the  whole  make  headway.  The  last  I  saw 
of  Vreugde  bij  Vrede  before  the  night  swallowed 
it,  was  almost  dead  astern  of  us.   .  .  ." 

§  9. 

Morning  found  Barnet  still  afloat.  The  bows 
of  his  barge  had  been  badly  strained,  and  his  men 
were  pumping  or  baling  in  relays.  He  got  about 
a  dozen  half-drowned  people  aboard  whose  boat 
had  capsized  near  him,  and  he  had  three  other 
boats  in  tow.  He  was  afloat,  and  somewhere  be- 
tween Amsterdam  and  Alkmaar,  but  he  could  not 
tell  where.  It  was  a  day  that  was  still  half  night. 
Grey  waters  stretched  in  every  direction  under  a 
dark  grey  sky,  and  out  of  the  waves  rose  the  upper 
part  of  houses,  in  many  cases  ruined,  the  tops  of 
trees,  windmills,  in  fact  the  upper  third  of  all  the 
familiar  Dutch  scenery,  and  on  it  there  drifted  a 
dimly  seen  flotilla  of  barges,  small  boats,  many 
overturned,  furniture,  rafts,  timbering,  and  mis- 
cellaneous objects. 

The  drowned  were  under  water  that  morning. 
Only  here  and  there  did  a  dead  cow  or  a  stiff 

142 


THE  LAST  WAR 

figure  still  clinging  stoutly  to  a  box  or  chair  or 
such-like  buoy  hint  at  the  hidden  massacre.  It  was 
not  till  the  Thursday  that  the  dead  came  to  the 
surface  in  any  quantity.  The  view  was  bounded 
on  every  side  by  a  grey  mist  that  closed  overhead 
in  a  grey  canopy.  The  air  cleared  in  the  after- 
noon, and  then,  far  away  to  the  west  under  great 
banks  of  steam  and  dust,  the  flaming  red  eruption 
of  the  atomic  bombs  became  visible  across  the 
waste  of  water. 

They  showed  flat  and  sullen  through  the  mist, 
like  London  sunsets.  "  They  sat  upon  the  sea," 
says  Barnet,  "  like  frayed-out  water-lilies  of 
flame." 

Barnet  seems  to  have  spent  the  morning  in 
rescue  work  along  the  track  of  the  canal,  in  help- 
ing people  who  were  adrift,  in  picking  up  derelict 
boats,  and  in  taking  people  out  of  imperilled 
houses.  He  found  other  military  barges  similarly 
employed,  and  It  was  only  as  the  day  wore  on 
and  the  immediate  appeals  for  aid  were  satisfied 
that  he  thought  of  food  and  drink  for  his  men 
and  what  course  he  had  better  pursue.  They  had 
a  little  cheese,  but  no  water.  "  Orders,"  that 
mysterious  direction,  had  at  last  altogether  dis- 
appeared. He  perceived  he  had  now  to  act  upon 
his  own  responsibility. 

"  One's  sense  was  of  a  destruction  so  far-reach- 
143 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

ing  and  of  a  world  so  altered  that  It  seemed  foolish 
to  go  In  any  direction  and  expect  to  find  things 
as  they  had  been  before  the  war  began.  I  sat  on 
the  quarterdeck  with  Mylius,  my  engineer,  and 
Kemp  and  two  others  of  the  non-commissioned 
officers,  and  we  consulted  upon  our  line  of  action. 
We  were  foodless  and  aimless.  We  agreed  that 
our  fighting  value  was  extremely  small  and  that 
our  first  duty  was  to  get  ourselves  in  touch  with 
food  and  Instructions  again.  Whatever  plan  of 
campaign  had  directed  our  movements  was  mani- 
festly smashed  to  bits.  Mylius  was  of  opinion 
that  we  could  take  a  line  westward  and  get  back  to 
England  across  the  North  Sea.  He  calculated 
that  with  such  a  motor  barge  as  ours  it  would  be 
possible  to  reach  the  Yorkshire  coast  within  four- 
and-twenty  hours.  But  this  idea  I  overruled  be- 
cause of  the  shortness  of  our  provisions,  and  more 
particularly  because  of  our  urgent  need  of  water. 

"  Every  boat  we  drew  near  now  hailed  us  for 
water,  and  their  demands  did  much  to  exasperate 
our  thirst.  I  decided  that  if  we  went  away  to  the 
south  we  should  reach  hilly  country,  or  at  least 
country  that  was  not  submerged,  and  then  we 
should  be  able  to  land,  find  some  stream,  drink, 
and  get  supplies  and  news.  Many  of  the  barges 
adrift  in  the  haze  about  us  were  filled  with  British 
soldiers  and  had  floated  up  from  the  Nord  See 

144 


THE  LAST  WAR 

Canal,  but  none  of  them  were  any  better  informed 
than  ourselves  of  the  course  of  events.  '  Orders  ' 
had,  in  fact,  vanished  out  of  the  sky." 

'  Orders  '  made  a  temporary  reappearance  late 
that  evening  in  the  form  of  a  megaphone  hail  from 
a  British  torpedo  boat,  announcing  a  truce,  and 
giving  the  welcome  information  that  food  and 
water  were  being  hurried  down  the  Rhine  and  were 
to  be  found  on  the  barge  flotilla  lying  over  the 
Old  Rhine  above  Leiden.  .   .  . 

We  will  not  follow  Barnet,  however,  in  the  de- 
scription of  his  strange  overland  voyage  among 
trees  and  houses  and  churches  by  Zaandam  and  be- 
tween Haarlem  and  Amsterdam,  to  Leiden.  It 
was  a  voyage  in  a  red-lit  mist,  in  a  world  of  steamy 
silhouette,  full  of  strange  voices  and  perplexity 
and  with  every  other  sensation  dominated  by  a 
feverish  thirst.  "  We  sat,"  he  says,  "  in  a  little 
huddled  group,  saying  very  little,  and  the  men 
forward  were  mere  knots  of  silent  endurance. 
Our  only  continuing  sound  was  the  persistent  mew- 
ing of  a  cat  one  of  the  men  had  rescued  from  a 
floating  hayrick  near  Zaandam.  We  kept  a  south- 
ward course  by  a  watch-chain  compass  Mylius  had 
produced.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  think  any  of  us  felt  we  belonged  to 
a  defeated  army,  nor  had  we  any  strong  sense  of 
the  war  as  the  dominating  fact  about  us.     Our 

145 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

mental  setting  had  far  more  of  the  effect  of  a  huge 
natural  catastrophe.  The  atomic  bomb  had 
dwarfed  the  international  issues  to  complete  in- 
significance. When  our  minds  wandered  from  the 
preoccupations  of  our  immediate  needs,  we  specu- 
lated upon  the  possibility  of  stopping  the  use  of 
these  frightful  explosives  before  the  world  was 
utterly  destroyed.  For  to  us  it  seemed  quite  plain 
that  these  bombs  and  the  still  greater  power  of 
destruction  of  which  they  were  the  precursors 
might  quite  easily  shatter  every  relationship  and 
institution  of  mankind. 

"  '  \Vhat  will  they  be  doing,'  asked  Mylius, 
'what  will  they  be  doing?  It's  plain  we've  got 
to  put  an  end  to  war.  It's  plain  things  have  to 
be  run  some  other  way.  This  —  all  this  —  is  im- 
possible.' 

*'  I  made  no  immediate  answer.  Something  — 
I  cannot  think  what  —  had  brought  back  to  me  the 
figure  of  that  man  I  had  seen  wounded  on  the  very 
first  day  of  actual  fighting.  I  saw  again  his  angry, 
tearful  eyes  and  that  poor,  dripping,  bloody  mess 
that  had  been  a  skilful  human  hand  five  minutes 
before,  thrust  out  in  indignant  protest.  '  Damned 
foolery !  '  he  had  stormed  and  sobbed,  '  damned 
foolery!     My  right  hand,  sir!     My  ri^ht  hand !  ' 

*'  My  faith  had  for  a  time  gone  altogether  out 
of  me.     '  I  think  we  are  too  —  too  silly,'  I  said 

146 


THE  LAST  WAR 

to  Myllus,  '  ever  tc  stop  war.  If  we'd  had  the 
sense  to  do  it,  we  should  have  done  it  before  this. 
I  think  this  ' —  and  I  pointed  to  the  gaunt  outline 
of  a  smashed  windmill  that  stuck  up,  ridiculous 
and  ugly,  above  the  blood-lit  waves  — '  this  is  the 
end;  " 

§    10. 

But  now  our  history  must  part  company  with 
Frederick  Barnet  and  his  barge-load  of  hungry 
and  starving  men. 

For  a  time  in  western  Europe  at  least  it  was 
indeed  as  if  civilisation  had  come  to  a  final  col- 
lapse. These  crowning  buds  upon  the  tradition 
that  Napoleon  planted  and  Bismarck  watered 
opened  and  flared  "  like  water-lilies  of  flame  " 
over  nations  destroyed,  over  churches  smashed  or 
submerged,  towns  ruined,  fields  lost  to  mankind 
for  ever,  and  a  million  weltering  bodies.  Was 
this  lesson  enough  for  mankind,  or  would  the 
flames  of  war  still  burn  amidst  the  ruins? 

Neither  Barnet  nor  his  companions,  it  is  clear, 
had  any  assurance  in  their  answers  to  that  ques- 
tion. Already  once  in  the  history  of  mankind,  in 
America,  before  its  discovery  by  the  whites,  an 
organised  civilisation  had  given  way  to  a  mere  cult 
of  warfare,  specialised  and  cruel,  and  it  seemed 
for  a  time  to  many  a  thoughtful  man  as  if  the 
whole  world  was  but  to  repeat  on  a  larger  scale 

147 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

this  ascendancy  of  the  warrior,  this  triumph  of  the 
destructive  instincts  of  the  race. 

The  subsequent  chapters  of  Barnet's  narrative 
do  but  supply  body  to  this  tragic  possibility.  He 
gives  a  series  of  vignettes  of  civilisation  shattered, 
it  seemed,  almost  irreparably.  He  found  the  Bel- 
gian hills  swarming  with  refugees  and  desolated 
by  cholera;  the  vestiges  of  the  contending  armies 
keeping  order  under  a  truce, —  without  actual  bat- 
tles, but  with  the  cautious  hostility  of  habit,  and  a 
great  absence  of  plan  everywhere. 

Overhead  aeroplanes  went  on  mysterious  er- 
rands, and  there  were  rumours  of  cannibalism  and 
hysterical  fanaticisms  in  the  valleys  of  the  Semoy 
and  the  forest  region  of  the  eastern  Ardennes. 
There  was  the  report  of  an  attack  upon  Russia  by 
the  Chinese  and  Japanese,  and  of  some  huge  revo- 
lutionary outbreak  In  America.  The  weather  was 
stormier  than  men  had  ever  known  it  In  those 
regions,  with  much  thunder  and  lightning  and  wild 
cloud-bursts  of  rain.  .  .  . 


148 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRD 
The  Ending  of  War 

§  I- 
On  the  mountain  side  above  the  town  of  Bris- 
sago  and  commanding  two  long  stretches  of  Lake 
Maggiore,  looking  eastward  to  Bellinzona  and 
southward  to  Luino,  there  is  a  shelf  of  grass 
meadows  which  is  very  beautiful  in  springtime 
with  a  great  multitude  of  wild  flowers.  More 
particularly  is  this  so  in  early  June,  when  the  slen- 
der asphodel,  St.  Bruno's  lily,  with  its  spike  of 
white  blossom,  is  in  flower.  To  the  westward  of 
this  delightful  shelf  there  is  a  deep  and  densely 
wooded  trench,  a  great  gulf  of  blue  some  mile  or 
so  in  width,  out  of  which  arise  great  precipices 
very  high  and  wild.  Above  the  asphodel  fields 
the  mountains  climb  in  rocky  slopes  to  solitudes  of 
stone  and  sunlight  that  curve  round  and  join  that 
wall  of  cliffs  in  one  common  skyline.  This  deso- 
late and  austere  background  contrasts  very  vividly 
with  the  glowing  serenity  of  the  great  lake  below, 
with  the  spacious  view  of  fertile  hills  and  roads 
and  villages,  and  islands  to  south  and  east,  and 

149 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

with  the  hotly  golden  rice  flats  of  the  Val  Maggia 
to  the  north. 

And  because  it  was  a  remote  and  insignificant 
place,  far  away  out  of  the  crowding  tragedies  of 
that  year  of  disaster,  away  from  burning  cities 
and  starving  multitudes,  bracing  and  tranquillising 
and  hidden,  it  was  here  that  there  gathered  the 
conference  of  rulers  that  was  to  arrest,  if  possi- 
ble, before  it  was  too  late,  the  debacle  of  civilisa- 
tion. Here,  brought  together  by  the  indefatigable 
energy  of  that  impassioned  humanitarian,  Leblanc, 
the  French  ambassador  at  Washington,  the  chief 
Powers  of  the  world  were  to  meet  in  a  last  des- 
perate conference  to  "  save  humanity." 

Leblanc  was  one  of  those  ingenuous  men  whose 
lot  would  have  been  insignificance  in  any  period 
of  security,  but  who  have  been  caught  up  to  an 
immortal  role  In  history  by  the  sudden  simplifica- 
tion of  human  affairs  through  some  tragical  crisis 
to  the  measure  of  their  simplicity.  Such  a  man 
was  Abraham  Lincoln  and  such  was  Garibaldi. 
And  Leblanc,  with  his  transparent  childish  inno- 
cence, his  entire  self-forgetfulness,  came  into  this 
confusion  of  distrust  and  intricate  disaster  with 
an  invincible  appeal  for  the  manifest  sanities  of 
the  situation.  His  voice  when  he  spoke  was  "  full 
of  remonstrance."  He  was  a  little,  bald,  spec- 
tacled man,  inspired  by  that  intellectual  idealism 

150 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

which  had  been  one  of  the  pecuHar  gifts  of  France 
to  humanity.  He  was  possessed  of  one  clear  per- 
suasion, that  war  must  end  and  that  the  only  way 
to  end  war  was  to  have  but  one  government  for 
mankind.  He  brushed  aside  all  other  considera- 
tions. At  the  very  outbreak  of  the  war,  so  soon 
as  the  two  capitals  of  the  belligerents  had  been 
wrecked,  he  went  to  the  President  in  the  White 
House  with  this  proposal.  He  made  it  as  if  it 
was  a  matter  of  course.  He  was  fortunate  to  be 
in  Washington  and  in  touch  with  that  gigantic 
childishness  which  was  the  characteristic  of  the 
American  imagination.  For  the  Americans  also 
were  among  the  simple  peoples  by  whom  the  world 
was  saved.  He  won  over  the  American  President 
and  the  American  Government  to  his  general 
ideas;  at  any  rate,  they  supported  him  sufficiently 
to  give  him  a  standing  with  the  more  sceptical 
European  Governments,  and  with  this  backing  he 
set  to  work  —  it  seemed  the  most  fantastic  of 
enterprises  —  to  bring  together  all  the  rulers  of 
the  world  and  unify  them.  He  wrote  innumerable 
letters,  he  sent  messages,  he  went  desperate  jour- 
neys, he  enlisted  whatever  support  he  could  find; 
no  one  was  too  humble  for  an  ally  or  too  obstinate 
for  his  advances;  through  the  terrible  autumn  of 
the  last  wars  this  persistent  little  visionary  in  spec- 
tacles  must  have   seemed  rather  like   a  hopeful 

151 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

canary  twittering  during  a  thunderstorm.  And 
no  accumulation  of  disasters  daunted  his  convic- 
tion that  they  could  be  ended. 

For  the  whole  world  was  flaring  then  into  a 
monstrous  phase  of  destruction.  Power  after 
power  about  the  armed  globe  sought  to  anticipate 
attack  by  aggression.  They  went  to  war  in  a  de- 
lirium of  panic,  in  order  to  use  their  bombs  first. 
China  and  Japan  had  assailed  Russia  and  de- 
stroyed Moscow,  the  United  States  had  attacked 
Japan,  India  was  in  anarchistic  revolt  with  Delhi 
a  pit  of  fire  spouting  death  and  flame;  the  redoubt- 
able King  of  the  Balkans  was  mobolising.  It 
must  have  seemed  plain  at  last  to  everyone  in  those 
days  that  the  world  was  slipping  headlong  to  an- 
archy. By  the  spring  of  1959  from  nearly  two 
hundred  centres,  and  every  week  added  to  their 
number,  roared  the  unquenchable  crimson  con- 
flagrations of  the  atomic  bombs,  the  flimsy  fabric 
of  the  world's  credit  had  vanished,  industry  was 
completely  disorganised,  and  every  city,  every 
thickly  populated  area  was  starving  or  trembled 
on  the  verge  of  starvation.  Most  of  the  capital 
cities  of  the  world  were  burning;  millions  of  peo- 
ple had  already  perished,  and  over  great  areas 
government  was  at  an  end.  Humanity  has  been 
compared  by  one  contemporary  writer  to  a  sleeper 

152 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

who  handles  matches  in  his  sleep  and  wakes  to 
find  himself  in  flames. 

For  many  months  it  was  an  open  question 
whether  there  was  to  be  found  throughout  all 
the  race  the  will  and  intelligence  to  face  these  new 
conditions  and  make  even  an  attempt  to  arrest 
the  downfall  of  the  social  order.  For  a  time  the 
war  spirit  defeated  every  effort  to  rally  the 
forces  of  preservation  and  construction.  Leblanc 
seemed  to  be  protesting  against  earthquakes  and 
as  likely  to  find  a  spirit  of  reason  in  the  crater  of 
Etna.  Even  though  the  shattered  official  Gov- 
ernments now  clamoured  for  peace,  bands  of  ir- 
reconcilables  and  invincible  patriots,  usurpers, 
adventurers  and  political  desperadoes  were  every- 
where in  possession  of  the  simple  apparatus  for 
the  disengagement  of  atomic  energy  and  the  in- 
itiation of  new  centres  of  destruction.  The  stuff 
exercised  an  Irresistible  fascination  upon  a  certain 
type  of  mind.  Why  should  anyone  give  In  while 
he  can  still  destroy  his  enemies?  Surrender? 
While  there  Is  still  a  chance  of  blowing  them  to 
dust?  The  power  of  destruction  which  had  once 
been  the  ultimate  privilege  of  government  was 
now  the  only  power  left  in  the  world  —  and  it 
was  everywhere.  There  were  few  thoughtful 
men  during  that  phase  of  blazing  waste  who  did 

153 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

not  pass  through  such  moods  of  despair  as  Barnet 
describes,  and  declare  with  him:  "This  is  the 
end.  .  .  ." 

And  all  the  while  Leblanc  was  going  to  and 
fro  with  glittering  glasses  and  an  inexhaustible 
persuasiveness,  urging  the  manifest  reasonable- 
ness of  his  view  upon  ears  that  ceased  presently 
to  be  inattentive.  Never  at  any  time  did  he  be- 
tray a  doubt  that  all  this  chaotic  conflict  would 
end.  No  nurse  during  a  nursery  uproar  was  ever 
so  certain  of  the  inevitable  ultimate  peace.  From 
being  treated  as  an  amiable  dreamer  he  came  by  in- 
sensible degrees  to  be  regarded  as  an  extravagant 
possibility.  Then  he  began  to  seem  even  prac- 
ticable. The  people  who  listened  to  him  in  1958 
with  a  smiling  impatience,  were  eager  before  1959 
was  four  months  old  to  know  just  exactly  what  he 
thought  might  be  done.  He  answered  with  the 
patience  of  a  philosopher  and  the  lucidity  of  a 
Frenchman.  He  began  to  receive  responses  of 
a  more  and  more  hopeful  type.  He  came  across 
the  Atlantic  to  Italy,  and  there  he  gathered  in  the 
promises  for  this  congress.  He  chose  those  high 
meadows  above  Brissago  for  the  reasons  we  have 
stated.  "  We  must  get  away,"  he  said,  "  from 
old  associations."  He  set  to  work  requisitioning 
material  for  his  conference  with  an  assurance  that 
was  justified  by  the  replies.     With   a  slight  in- 

154 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

credulity,  the  conference  which  was  to  begin  a 
new  order  In  the  world  gathered  itself  together. 
Leblanc  summoned  it  without  arrogance;  he  con- 
trolled it  by  virtue  of  an  infinite  humility.  Men 
appeared  upon  those  upland  slopes  with  the  ap- 
paratus for  wireless  telegraphy;  others  followed 
with  tents  and  provisions;  a  little  cable  was  flung 
down  to  a  convenient  point  upon  the  Locarno  road 
below.  Leblanc  arrived,  sedulously  directing 
every  detail  that  would  affect  the  tone  of  the  as- 
sembly. He  might  have  been  a  courier  in  advance 
rather  than  the  originator  of  the  gathering.  And 
then  there  arrived,  some  by  the  cable,  most  by 
aeroplane,  a  few  In  other  fashions,  the  men  who 
had  been  called  together  to  confer  upon  the  state 
of  the  world.  It  was  to  be  a  conference  without 
a  name.  Nine  monarchs,  the  presidents  of  four 
Republics,  a  number  of  ministers  and  ambassa- 
dors, powerful  journalists,  and  such-like  promi- 
nent and  influential  men  took  part  in  it.  There 
were  even  scientific  men;  and  that  world-famous 
old  man  Holsten  came  with  the  others  to  contrib- 
ute his  amateur  statecraft  to  the  desperate  prob- 
lem of  the  age.  Only  Leblanc  would  have  dared 
so  to  summon  figure-heads  and  powers  and  intel- 
ligences or  have  had  the  courage  to  hope  for  their 
agreement.   .   .  . 


^5S 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

§    2. 

And  one  at  least  of  those  who  were  called  to 
this  conference  of  Governments  came  to  it  on 
foot.  This  was  King  Egbert,  the  young  king  of 
the  most  venerable  kingdom  in  Europe.  He  was 
a  rebel  and  had  always  been  of  deliberate  choice 
a  rebel  against  the  magnificence  of  his  position. 
He  affected  long  pedestrian  tours  and  a  disposi- 
tion to  sleep  in  the  open  air.  He  came  now  over 
the  Pass  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore  and  by  boat  up 
the  lake  to  Brissago;  thence  he  walked  up  the 
mountain,  a  pleasant  path  set  with  oaks  and  sweet 
chestnut.  For  provision  on  the  walk,  for  he  did 
not  want  to  hurry,  he  carried  with  him  a  pocket- 
ful of  bread  and  cheese.  A  certain  small  retinue 
that  was  necessary  for  his  comfort  and  dignity 
upon  occasions  of  state  he  sent  on  by  the  cable 
car,  and  with  him  walked  his  private  secretary, 
Firmin,  a  man  who  had  thrown  up  the  Professor- 
ship of  World  Politics  in  the  London  School  of 
Sociology,  Economics  and  Political  Science,  to 
take  up  these  duties.  Firmin  was  a  man  of  strong 
rather  than  rapid  thought,  he  had  anticipated 
great  influence  in  this  new  position,  and  after  some 
years  he  was  still  only  beginning  to  apprehend 
how  largely  his  function  was  to  listen.  Origi- 
nally he  had  been  something  of  a  thinker  upon 
international  politics,  an  authority  upon  tariffs  and 

156 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

strategy,  and  a  valued  contributor  to  various  of 
the  higher  organs  of  pubHc  opinion,  but  the  atomic 
bombs  had  taken  him  by  surprise  and  he  had  still 
to  recover  completely  from  his  pre-atomic  opin- 
ions and  the  silencing  effect  of  those  sustained  ex- 
plosives. 

The  king's  freedom  from  the  trammels  of  eti- 
quette was  very  complete.  In  theory  —  and  he 
abounded  in  theory  — his  manners  were  purely 
democratic.  It  was  by  sheer  habit  and  inadvert- 
ency that  he  permitted  Firmin,  who  had  discov- 
ered a  rucksack  in  a  small  shop  in  the  town  below, 
to  carry  both  bottles  of  beer.  The  king  had 
never,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  carried  anything  for 
himself  in  his  hfe,  and  he  had  never  noted  that 
he  did  not  do  so. 

"  We  will  have  nobody  with  us,"  he  said,  "  at 
all.     We  will  be  perfectly  simple." 
So  Firmin  carried  the  beer. 
As  they  walked  up  —  it  was  the  king  who  made 
the  pace  rather  than  Firmin  —  they  talked  of  the 
conference  before  them,  and  Firmin,  with  a  cer- 
tam  want  of  assurance  that  would  have  surprised 
him  in  himself  in  the  days  of  his  Professorship, 
sought   to    define   the   policy   of   his    companion. 
"  In  its  broader  form,  sir,"  said  Firmin,  "  I  admit 
a  certain  plausibility  in  this  project  of  Leblanc's, 
but  I  feel  that  although  it  may  be  advisable  to  set 

157 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

up  some  sort  of  general  control  of  international 
affairs  —  a  sort  of  Hague  Court  with  extended 
powers  —  that  is  no  reason  whatever  for  losing 
sight  of  the  principles  of  national  and  imperial 
autonomy." 

"  Firmin,"  said  the  king,  "  I  am  going  to  set 
my  brother  kings  a  good  example." 

Firmin  intimated  a  curiosity  that  veiled  a  dread. 

"  By  chucking  all  that  nonsense,"  said  the  king. 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  Firmin,  who  was  al- 
ready a  little  out  of  breath,  betrayed  a  disposition 
to  reply. 

"  I  am  going  to  chuck  all  that  nonsense,"  said 
the  king  as  Firmin  prepared  to  speak.  "  I  am 
going  to  fling  my  royalty  and  empire  on  the  table 
—  and  declare  at  once  I  don't  mean  to  haggle. 
It's  haggling  —  about  rights  —  has  been  the  devil 
in  human  affairs,  for  —  always.  I  am  going  to 
stop  this  nonsense." 

Firmin  halted  abruptly.      "  But,  sir!  "  he  cried. 

The  king  stopped  six  yards  ahead  of  him  and 
looked  back  at  his  adviser's  perspiring  visage. 

"  Do  you  really  think,  Firmin,  that  I  am  here 
as  —  as  an  infernal  politician  to  put  my  crown 
and  my  flag  and  my  claims  and  so  forth  in  the 
way  of  peace?  That  little  Frenchman  is  right. 
You  know  he  is  right  as  well  as  I  do.  Those 
things  are  over.     We  —  we  kings  and  rulers  and 

158 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

representatives  have  been  at  the  very  heart  of  the 
mischief.  Of  course,  we  imply  separation,  and 
of  course  separation  means  the  threat  of  war,  and 
of  course  the  threat  of  war  means  the  accumula- 
tion of  more  and  more  atomic  bombs.  The  old 
game's  up.  But,  I  say,  we  mustn't  stand  here, 
you  know.  The  world  waits.  Don't  you  think 
the  old  game's  up,  Firmin?  " 

Firmin  adjusted  a  strap,  passed  a  hand  over 
his  wet  forehead  and  followed  earnestly.  "  I  ad- 
mit, sir,"  he  said,  to  a  receding  back,  "  that  there 
has  to  be  some  sort  of  hegemony,  some  sort  of 
Amphictyonic  council " 

"  There's  got  to  be  one  simple  government  for 
all  the  world,"  said  the  king  over  his  shoulder. 

"  But  as  for  a  reckless,  unqualified  abandon- 
ment, sir " 

"  Bang!  "  cried  the  king. 

Firmin  made  no  answer  to  this  interruption. 
But  a  faint  shadow  of  annoyance  passed  across 
his  heated  features. 

"  Yesterday,"  said  the  king  by  way  of  explana- 
tion, "  the  Japanese  very  nearly  got  San  Fran- 
cisco." 

"  I  hadn't  heard,  sir." 

"  The  Americans  ran  the  Japanese  aeroplane 
down  into  the  sea,  and  there  the  bomb  got 
busted." 

159 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  Under  the  sea,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.  Submarine  volcano.  The  steam  is  in 
sight  of  the  Californian  coast.  It  was  as  near  as 
that.  And  with  things  like  this  happening,  you 
want  me  to  go  up  this  hill  and  haggle.  Consider 
the  effect  of  that  upon  my  imperial  cousin  —  and 
all  the  others !  " 

"  He  will  haggle,  sir." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  king. 

"  But,  sir." 

*'  Leblanc  won't  let  him.'* 

Firmin  halted  abruptly  and  gave  a  vicious  pull 
at  the  offending  strap.  "  Sir,  he  will  listen  to  his 
advisers,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  in  some  subtle 
way  seemed  to  implicate  his  master  with  the  trou- 
ble of  the  knapsack. 

The  king  considered  him. 

"  We  will  go  just  a  little  higher,"  he  said.  "  I 
want  to  find  this  unoccupied  village  they  spoke  of, 
and  then  we  will  drink  that  beer.  It  can't  be  far. 
We  will  drink  the  beer  and  throw  away  the  bottles. 
And  then,  Firmin,  I  shall  ask  you  to  look  at  things 
in  a  more  generous  light.  .  .  .  Because,  you 
know,  you  must.   ..." 

He  turned  about  and  for  some  time  the  only 
sound  they  made  was  the  noise  of  their  boots  upon 
the  loose  stones  of  the  way  and  the  irregular 
breathing  of  Firmin. 

i6o 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

At  length,  as  It  seemed  to  Firmin,  or  quite  soon, 
as  it  seemed  to  the  king,  the  gradient  of  the  path 
diminished,  the  way  widened  out  and  they  found 
themselves  in  a  very  beautiful  place  indeed.  It 
was  one  of  those  upland  clusters  of  sheds  and 
houses  that  are  still  to  be  found  in  the  mountains 
of  North  Italy,  that  were  used  only  In  the  high 
summer,  and  which  It  was  th'e  custom  to  leave 
locked  up  and  deserted  through  all  the  winter  and 
spring  and  up  to  the  middle  of  June.  The  build- 
ings were  of  a  soft-toned  grey  stone,  burled  in 
rich  green  grass,  shadowed  by  chestnut  trees  and 
lit  by  an  extraordinary  blaze  of  yellow  broom. 
Never  had  the  king  seen  broom  so  glorious;  he 
shouted  at  the  light  of  it,  for  it  seemed  to  give 
out  more  sunlight  even  than  it  received;  he  sat 
down  Impulsively  on  a  lichenous  stone,  tugged  out 
his  bread  and  cheese,  and  bade  Firmin  thrust  the 
beer  into  the  shaded  weeds  to  cool. 

"  The  things  people  miss,  Firmin,"  he  said, 
"  who  go  up  Into  the  air  In  ships !  " 

Firmin  looked  around  him  with  an  ungenlal 
eye.  "  You  see  It  at  its  best,  sir,"  he  said,  "  be- 
fore the  peasants  come  here  again  and  make  it 
filthy." 

"  It  would  be  beautiful  anyhow,"  said  the  king. 

"  Superficially,  sir,"  said  Firmin.  "  But  It 
stands   for  a  social  order  that  is   fast  vanishing 

i6i 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

away.  Indeed,  judging  by  the  grass  between  the 
stones  and  In  the  huts,  I  am  indlned  to  doubt  if 
it  is  in  use  even  now." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  king,  "  they  would  come 
up  immediately  the  hay  on  this  flower  meadow  is 
cut.  It  would  be  those  slow,  creamy-coloured 
beasts,  I  expect,  one  sees  on  the  roads  below  and 
swarthy  girls  with  red  handkerchiefs  over  their 
black  hair.  ...  It  is  wonderful  to  think  how 
long  that  beautiful  old  life  lasted.  In  the  Roman 
times  and  long  ages  before  ever  the  rumour  of 
the  Romans  had  come  into  these  parts,  men  drove 
their  cattle  up  into  these  places  as  the  summer 
came  on.  .  .  .  How  haunted  is  this  place  1 
There  have  been  quarrels  here,  hopes,  children 
have  played  here  and  lived  to  be  old  crones  and 
old  gaffers  and  died,  and  so  it  has  gone  on  for 
thousands  of  lives.  Lovers,  innumerable  lovers 
have  caressed  amidst  this  golden  broom.   .   .   ." 

He  meditated  over  a  busy  mouthful  of  bread 
and  cheese. 

"  We  ought  to  have  brought  a  tankard  for  that 
beer,"  he  said. 

Firmin  produced  a  folding  aluminium  cup  and 
the  king  was  pleased  to  drink. 

"  I  wish,  sir,"  said  Firmin  suddenly,  "  I  could 
induce  you  at  least  to  delay  your  decision." 

162 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  It's  no  good  talking,  Firmin,"  said  the  king. 
"  My  mind's  as  clear  as  daylight." 

"  Sire,"  protested  Firmin,  with  his  voice  full 
of  bread  and  cheese  and  genuine  emotion,  "  have 
you  no  respect  for  your  kingship?  " 

The  king  paused  before  he  answered  with  un- 
wonted gravity:  "  It's  just  because  I  have,  Fir- 
min, that  I  won't  be  a  puppet  in  this  game  of  in- 
ternational politics."  He  regarded  his  companion 
for  a  moment  and  then  remarked:  "  Kingship! 
—  what  do  '^ou  know  of  kingship,   Firmin?" 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  king  to  his  astonished  coun- 
sellor. "  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  going 
to  be  a  king.  I  am  going  to  lead  and  lead  by  my 
own  authority.  For  a  dozen  generations  my  fam- 
ily has  been  a  set  of  dummies  in  the  hands  of  their 
advisers.  Now  I  am  going  to  be  a  real  king  — 
and  I  am  going  to  —  to  abolish,  dispose  of,  finish, 
the  crown  to  which  I  have  been  a  slave.  But 
what  a  world  of  paralysing  shams  this  roaring 
stuff  has  ended!  The  rigid  old  world  is  in  the 
melting  pot  again,  and  I,  who  seemed  to  be  no 
more  than  the  stuffing  inside  a  regal  robe,  I  am 
a  king  among  kings.  I  have  to  play  my  part  at 
the  head  of  things  and  put  an  end  to  blood  and 
fire  and  idiot  disorder." 

"  But,  sir,"  protested  Firmin. 

"  This  man  Leblanc  is  right.  The  whole 
163 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

world  has  got  to  be  a  Republic,  one  and  indivisible. 
You  know  that,  and  my  duty  is  to  make  that  easy. 
A  king  shou'ld  lead  his  people;  you  want  me  to 
stick  on  to  their  backs  like  some  Old  Man  of  the 
Sea.  To-day  must  be  a  sacrament  of  kings. 
Our  trust  for  mankind  is  done  with  and  ended. 
We  must  part  our  robes  among  them,  we  must 
part  our  kingship  among  them  and  say  to  them 
all.  Now  the  king  in  everyone  must  rule  the 
world.  .  .  .  Have  you  no  sense  of  the  magnif- 
icence of  this  occasion?  You  want  me,  Firmin, 
you  want  me  to  go  up  there  and  haggle  like  a 
damned  little  solicitor  for  some  price,  some  com- 
pensation, some  qualification.   .   .   ." 

Firmin  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  assumed  an 
expression  of  despair.  Meanwhile,  he  conveyed, 
one  must  eat. 

For  a  time  neither  spoke,  and  the  king  ate  and 
turned  over  in  his  mind  the  phrases  of  the  speech 
he  intended  to  make  to  the  conference.  By  vir- 
tue of  the  antiquity  of  his  crown  he  was  to  preside, 
and  he  intended  to  make  his  presidency  memora- 
ble. Reassured  of  his  eloquence,  he  considered 
the  despondent  and  sulky  Firmin  for  a  space. 

"  Firmin,"  he  said,  "  you  have  idealised  king- 
ship." 

"  It  has  been  my  dream,  sir,"  said  Firmin  sor- 
rowfully, "  to  serve." 

164 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  At  the  levers,  Firmin,"  said  the  king. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  unjust,"  said  Firmin, 
deeply  hurt. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  be  getting  out  of  it,"  said  the 
king. 

"  Oh,  Firmin,"  he  went  on,  "  have  you  no 
thought  for  me  ?  Will  you  never  realise  that  I 
am  not  only  flesh  and  blood,  but  an  imagination 
—  with  its  rights  ?  I  am  a  king  in  revolt  against 
that  fetter  they  put  upon  my  head.  I  am  a  king 
awake.  My  reverend  grandparents  never  in  all 
their  august  lives  had  a  v/aking  moment.  They 
loved  the  job  that  you,  you  advisers,  gave  them; 
they  never  had  a  doubt  of  it.  It  was  like  giving 
a  doll  to  a  woman  who  ought  to  have  a  child. 
They  delighted  in  processions  and  opening  things, 
and  being  read  addresses  to,  and  visiting  triplets 
and  nonagenarians,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Incredibly.  They  used  to  keep  albums  of  cut- 
tings from  all  the  illustrated  papers  showing  them 
at  it,  and  if  the  press-cutting  parcels  grew  thin 
they  were  worried.  It  was  all  that  ever  worried 
them.  But  there  is  something  atavistic  in  me; 
I  hark  back  to  unconstitutional  monarchs.  They 
christened  me  too  retrogressively,  I  think.  I 
wanted  to  get  things  done.  I  was  bored.  I 
might  have  fallen  into  vice;  most  intelligent  and 
energetic  princes  do,  but  the  palace  precautions 

165 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

were  unusually  thorough.  I  was  brought  up  in 
the  purest  court  the  world  has  ever  seen.  .  .  . 
Alertly  pure.  ...  So  I  read  books,  FIrmin,  and 
went  about  asking  questions.  The  thing  was 
bound  to  happen  to  one  of  us  sooner  or  later. 
Perhaps,  too,  very  likely  I'm  not  vicious.  I  don't 
think  I  am." 

He  reflected.     "  No,"  he  said. 

Firmin  cleared  his  throat.  "  I  don't  think 
you  are,  sir,"  he  said.     "  You  prefer " 

He  stopped  short.  He  had  been  going  to  say, 
"  talking."      He  substituted  "  ideas." 

"  That  world  of  royalty,"  the  king  went  on. 
"  In  a  little  while  no  one  will  understand  it  any 
more.     It  will  become  a  riddle.  .  .  . 

"  Among  other  things,  it  was  a  world  of  per- 
petual best  clothes.  Everything  was  in  its  best 
clothes  for  us  and  usually  wearing  bunting.  With 
a  cinema  watching  to  see  we  took  it  properly.  If 
you  are  a  king,  Firmin,  and  you  go  and  look  at  a 
regiment,  it  instantly  stops  whatever  it  is  doing, 
changes  into  full  uniform  and  presents  arms. 
When  my  august  parents  went  in  a  train  the  coal 
in  the  tender  used  to  be  whitened.  It  did,  Fir- 
min, and  if  coal  had  been  white  instead  of  black, 
I  have  no  doubt  the  authorities  would  have  black- 
ened it.  That  was  the  spirit  of  our  treatment. 
People  were  always  walking  about  with  their  faces 

i66 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

to  us.  One  never  saw  anything  in  profile.  One 
got  an  impression  of  a  world  that  was  insanely 
focussed  on  ourselves.  And  when  I  began  to 
poke  my  little  questions  Into  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor and  the  Archbishop  and  all  the  rest  of  them, 
about  what  I  should  see  if  people  turned  round, 
the  general  effect  I  produced  was  that  I  wasn't 
by  any  means  displaying  the  Royal  Tact  they  had 
expected  of  me.   .  .  ." 

He  meditated  for  a  time. 

"  And  yet,  you  know,  there  is  something  in  the 
kingship,  Firmin.  It  stiffened  up  my  august  lit- 
tle grandfather;  It  gave  my  grandmother  a  kind 
of  awkward  dignity,  even  when  she  was  cross  — 
and  she  was  very  often  cross.  They  both  had  a 
profound  sense  of  responsibility.  My  poor  fath- 
er's health  was  wretched  during  his  brief  career; 
nobody  outside  the  circle  knows  just  how  he 
screwed  himself  up  to  things.  '  My  people  ex- 
pect it,'  he  used  to  say  of  this  tiresome  duty  or 
that.  Most  of  the  things  they  made  him  do  were 
silly, —  it  was  part  of  a  bad  tradition,  but  there 
was  nothing  silly  in  the  way  he  set  about  them. 
.  .  .  The  spirit  of  kingship  is  a  fine  thing,  Fir- 
min; I  feel  it  In  my  bones;  I  do  not  know  what  I 
might  not  be  If  I  were  not  a  king.  I  could  die 
for  my  people,  Firmin,  and  you  couldn't.  No, 
—  don't  say  you  could  die  for  me,  because  I  know 

167 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

better.  Don't  think  I  forget  my  kingship,  Fir- 
min,  don't  imagine  that.  I  am  a  king,  a  kingly 
king,  by  right  divine.  The  fact  that  I  am  also  a 
chattering  young  man  makes  not  the  slightest  dif- 
ference to  that.  But  the  proper  text-book  for 
kings,  FIrmin,  is  none  of  the  Court  memoirs  and 
Welt-Politik  books  you  would  have  me  read;  it 
Is  old  Eraser's  Golden  Bough.  Have  you  read 
that,  FIrmin?  " 

FIrmin  had. 

"  Those  were  the  authentic  kings.  In  the  end 
they  were  cut  up  and  a  bit  to  everybody.  They 
sprinkled  the  nations  —  with  kingship." 

FIrmin  turned  himself  round  and  faced  his 
royal  master. 

"What  do  you  Intend  to  do,  sir?"  he  asked. 
"  If  you  will  not  listen  to  me.  What  do  you  pro- 
pose to  do  this  afternoon?" 

The  king  flicked  crumbs  from  his  coat. 

"  Manifestly  war  has  to  stop  for  ever,  FIrmin. 
Manifestly  this  can  only  be  done  by  putting  all 
the  world  under  one  government.  Our  crowns 
and  flags  are  in  the  way.     Manifestly  they  must 

go- 

*'  Yes,    sir,"    Interrupted    FIrmin,    "  but    what 

government?     I  don't  see  what  government  you 

get  by  a  universal  abdication  1  " 


i68 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  Well,"  said  the  king  with  his  hands  about 
his  knees,  "  We  shall  be  the  government." 

"The  conference?"  exclaimed  Firmin. 

"  Who  else?  "  asked  the  king,  simply. 

"  It's  perfectly  simple,"  he  added  to  Firmin's 
tremendous  silence. 

"  But,"  cried  Firmin,  "  you  must  have  sanc- 
tions!  Will  there  be  no  form  of  election,  for  ex- 
ample? " 

"  Why  should  there  be?  "  asked  the  king  with 
intelligent  curiosity. 

"  The  consent  of  the  governed." 

"  Firmin,  we  are  just  going  to  lay  down  our 
differences  and  take  over  government.  Without 
any  election  at  all.  Without  any  sanction.  The 
governed  will  show  their  consent  by  silence.  If 
any  effective  opposition  arises,  we  shall  ask  it  to 
come  In  and  help.  The  true  sanction  of  kingship 
Is  the  grip  upon  the  sceptre.  We  aren't  going  to 
worry  people  to  vote  for  us.  I'm  certain  that  the 
mass  of  men  does  not  want  to  be  bothered  with 
such  things.  .  .  .  We'll  contrive  a  way  for  any- 
one interested  to  join  in.  That's  quite  enough 
in  the  way  of  democracy.  Perhaps  later  —  when 
things  don't  matter.  .  .  .  We  shall  govern  all 
right,  Firmin.  Government  only  becomes  difficult 
when  the  lawyers  get  hold  of  it,  and  since  these 
troubles    began    the    lawyers    are    shy.      Indeed, 

169 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

come  to  think  of  It,  I  wonder  where  all  the  lawyers 
are.  .  .  .  Where  are  they?  A  lot,  of  course, 
were  bagged,  some  of  the  worst  ones,  when  they 
blew  up  my  legislature.  You  never  knew  the 
late  Lord  Chancellor.   .   .   . 

"  Necessities  bury  rights.  Lawyers  live  on 
rights.  .  .  .  We've  done  with  that  way  of  liv- 
ing. We  won't  have  more  law  than  a  code  can 
cover,  and  beyond  that  government  will  be 
free.  .   .  . 

"  Before  the  sun  sets  to-day,  Firmin,  trust  me, 
we  shall  have  made  our  abdications,  all  of  us,  and 
declared  the  World  Republic,  supreme  and  in- 
divisible. I  wonder  what  my  august  grandmother 
would  have  made  of  it !  All  my  rights !  .  .  . 
And  then  we  shall  go  on  governing.  What  else 
is  there  to  do?  All  over  the  world  we  shall  de- 
clare that  there  is  no  longer  mine  or  thine,  but 
ours.  China,  the  United  States,  two-thirds,  will 
certainly  fall  in  and  obey.  They  will  have  to  do 
so.  What  else  can  they  do?  Their  official  rul- 
ers are  here  with  us.  They  won't  be  able  to  get 
together  any  sort  of  Idea  of  not  obeying  us.  .  .  . 
Then  we  shall  declare  that  every  sort  of  property 
is  held  in  trust  for  the  Republic.  .   .   ." 

"But,  sir!"  cried  Firmin,  suddenly  enlight- 
ened.    "Has  this  been  arranged  already?" 

"  My  dear  Firmin,  do  you  think  we  have  come 
170 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

here,  all  of  us,  to  talk  at  large?  The  talking  has 
been  done  for  half  a  century.  Talking  and  writ- 
ing. We  are  here  to  set  the  new  thing,  the  sim- 
ple, obvious,  necessary  thing,  going." 

He  stood  up. 

Firmin,  forgetting  the  habits  of  a  score  of 
years,   remained  seated. 

"  JVell,"  he  said  at  last.  "  And  I  have  known 
nothing!  " 

The  king  smiled  very  cheerfully.  He  liked 
these  talks  with  Firmin. 

§  3- 
That  conference  upon  the  Brissago  meadoWs 
was  one  of  the  most  heterogeneous  collections  of 
prominent  people  that  has  ever  met  together. 
Principalities  and  powers,  stripped  and  shattered 
until  all  their  pride  and  mystery  were  gone,  met  in 
a  marvellous  new  humility.  Here  were  kings  and 
emperors  whose  capitals  were  lakes  of  flaming 
destruction,  statesmen  whose  countries  had  be- 
come chaos,  scared  politicians  and  financial 
potentates.  Here  were  leaders  of  thought  and 
learned  investigators  dragged  reluctantly  to  the 
control  of  affairs.  Altogether  there  were  ninety- 
three  of  them,  Leblanc's  conception  of  the  head 
men  of  the  world.  They  had  all  come  to  the 
realisation  of  the  simple  truths  that  the  Indefati- 

171 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

gable  Leblanc  had  hammered  into  them;  and, 
drawing  his  resources  from  the  King  of  Italy,  he 
had  provisioned  his  conference  with  a  generous 
simplicity  quite  in  accordance  with  the  rest  of  his 
character  and  so  at  last  was  able  to  make  his 
astonishing  and  entirely  rational  appeal.  He  had 
appointed  King  Egbert  the  president;  he  believed 
in  this  young  man  so  firmly  that  he  completely 
dominated  him,  and  he  spoke  himself  as  a  secre- 
tary might  speak  from  the  president's  left  hand, 
and  evidently  did  not  realise  himself  that  he  was 
telling  them  all  exactly  what  they  had  to  do.  He 
imagined  he  was  merely  recapitulating  the  obvious 
features  of  the  situation  for  their  convenience. 
He  was  dressed  in  ill-fitting  white  silk  clothes,  and 
he  consulted  a  dingy  little  packet  of  notes  as  he 
spoke.  They  put  him  out.  He  explained  that 
he  had  never  spoken  from  notes  before,  but  that 
this  occasion  was  exceptional. 

And  then  King  Egbert  spoke  as  he  was  ex- 
pected to  speak,  and  Leblanc's  spectacles  mois- 
tened at  that  flow  of  generous  sentiment,  most 
amiably  and  lightly  expressed.  "  We  haven't  to 
stand  on  ceremony,"  said  the  king,  "  we  have  to 
govern  the  world.  We  have  always  pretended  to 
govern  the  world,  and  here  is  our  opportunity." 

"  Of  course,"  whispered  Leblanc,  nodding  his 
head  rapidly,  "  of  course." 

172 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  The  world  has  been  smashed  up,  and  we  have 

to  put  it  on  its  wheels  again,"  said  King  Egbert. 
'  As    it    is    the    simple    common-sense    of    this 

crisis  for  all  to  help  and  none  to  seek  advantage. 

Is  that  our  tone  or  not?  " 

The  gathering  was  too  old  and  seasoned  and 

miscellaneous  for  any  great  displays  of  enthusi- 
asm,  but  that  was  its  tone,   and  with   an  aston- 
ishment that  somehow  became  exhilarating,  it  be- 
gan to  resign,  repudiate,  and  declare  its  intentions. 
Firmin,    taking  notes   behind  his   master,   heard 
everything  that  had  been  foretold  among  the  yel- 
low broom  come  true.     With  a  queer  feeling  that 
he  was  dreaming,  he  assisted  at  the  proclamation 
of  the  World  State,  and  saw  the  message  taken 
out  to  the  wireless  operators  to  be  throbbed  all 
round   the   habitable   globe.     "And   next,"    said 
King  Egbert,   with   a  cheerful   excitement  in  his 
voice,  "  we  have  to  get  every  atom  of  Carolinum 
and  all  the   plant   for  making   it,    into   our   con- 
trol. .  .   ." 

Firmin  was  not  alone  in  his  incredulity.     Not; 
a  man  there  who  was  not  a  very  amiable,  reason-  / 
able,   benevolent  creature   at  bottom;   some   had' 
been  born  to  power  and  some  had  happened  upon 
It,  some  had  struggled  to  get  it,  not  clearly  know- 
ing what  it  was  and  what  it  implied,  but  none 
was  irreconcilably  set  upon   its  retention   at   the 

173 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

price  of  cosmic  disaster.  Their  minds  had  been 
prepared  by  circumstances  and  sedulously  culti- 
vated by  Leblanc;  and  now  they  took  the  broad, 
obvious  road  along  which  King  Egbert  was  lead- 
ing them,  with  a  mingled  conviction  of  strangeness 
and  necessity.  Things  went  very  smoothly;  the 
King  of  Italy  explained  the  arrangements  that 
had  been  made  for  the  protection  of  the  camp  from 
any  fantastic  attack;  a  couple  of  thousand  of  aero- 
planes, each  carrying  a  sharpshooter,  guarded 
them,  and  there  was  an  excellent  system  of  relays, 
and  at  night  all  the  sky  would  be  searched  by 
scores  of  lights,  and  the  admirable  Leblanc  gave 
luminous  reasons  for  their  camping  just  where 
they  were  and  going  on  with  their  administrative 
duties  forthwith.  He  knew  of  this  place  because 
he  had  happened  upon  It  when  holiday-making 
with  Madame  Leblanc  twenty  years  and  more 
ago.  "  There  is  very  simple  fare  at  present," 
he  explained,  "  on  account  of  the  disturbed  state 
of  the  countries  about  us.  But  we  have  excellent 
fresh  milk,  good  red  wine,  beef,  bread,  salad  and 
lemons.  ...  In  a  few  days  I  hope  to  place 
things  in  the  hands  of  a  more  efficient  ca- 
terer. .  .  ." 

The  members  of  the  new  world  government 
dined  at  three  long  tables  on  trestles,  and  down 
the  middle  of  these  tables  Leblanc,  in  spite  of  the 

174 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

barrenness  of  his  menu,  had  contrived  to  have  a 
great  multitude  of  beautiful  roses.  There  was 
similar  accommodation  for  the  secretaries  and  at- 
tendants at  a  lower  level  down  the  mountain. 
The  assembly  dined  as  It  had  debated,  In  the  open 
air,  and  over  the  dark  crags  to  the  west  the  glow- 
ing June  sunset  shone  upon  the  banquet.  There 
was  no  precedency  now  among  the  ninety-three, 
and  King  Egbert  found  himself  between  a  pleas- 
ant little  Japanese  stranger  In  spectacles  and  his 
cousin  of  Central  Europe,  and  opposite  a  great 
Bengali  leader  and  the  President  of  the  United 
States  of  America.  Beyond  the  Japanese  was 
Holsten,  the  old  chemist,  and  Leblanc  was  a  little 
way  down  on  the  other  side. 

The  king  was  still  cheerfully  talkative  and 
abounded  in  ideas.  He  fell  presently  Into  an 
amiable  controversy  with  the  American,  who 
seemed  to  feel  a  lack  of  impressiveness  in  the  oc- 
casion. 

It  was  ever  the  Transatlantic  tendency,  due  no 
doubt  to  the  necessity  of  handling  public  questions 
in  a  bulky  and  striking  manner,  to  over-emphasise 
and  over-accentuate,  and  the  president  was 
touched  by  his  national  falling.  He  suggested 
now  that  there  should  be  a  new  era,  starting  from 
that  day  as  the  first  day  of  the  first  year. 

The  king  demurred. 

175 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

*'  From  this  day  forth,  sir,  man  enters  upon 
his  heritage,"  said  the  American. 

"  Man,"  said  the  king,  "  is  always  entering 
upon  his  heritage.  You  Americans  have  a  pecul- 
iar weakness  for  anniversaries, —  if  you  will  for- 
give me  saying  so.  Yes, —  I  accuse  you  of  a  lust 
for  dramatic  effect.  Everything  is  happening  al- 
ways, but  you  want  to  say  this  or  this  is  the  real 
instant  in  time  and  subordinate  all  the  others  to 
it." 

The  American  said  something  about  an  epoch- 
making  day. 

"  But  surely,"  said  the  king,  "  you  don't  want 
us  to  condemn  all  humanity  to  a  world-wide  annual 
Fourth  of  June  for  ever  and  ever  more.  On  ac- 
count of  this  harmless  necessary  day  of  declara- 
tions. No  conceivable  day  could  ever  deserve 
that.  Ah !  you  do  not  know,  as  I  do,  the  devasta- 
tions of  the  memorable.  My  poor  grandparents 
were  —  rubricated.  The  worst  of  these  huge 
celebrations  is  that  they  break  up  the  dignified 
succession  of  one's  contemporary  emotions. 
They  interrupt.  They  set  back.  Suddenly  out 
come  the  flags  and  fireworks  and  the  old  enthu- 
siasms are  furbished  up  —  and  it's  sheer  destruc- 
tion of  the  proper  thing  that  ought  to  be  going 
on.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  celebration 
thereof.     Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.     You 

176 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

see,  in  regard  to  the  calendar  I  am  for  democracy 
and  you  are  for  aristocracy.  All  things,  I  hold, 
are  august  and  have  a  right  to  be  lived  through 
on  their  merits.  No  day  should  be  sacrificed  on 
the  grave  of  departed  events.  What  do  you 
think  of  It,  Wilhelm?" 

"  For  the  noble,  yes,  all  days  should  be  noble." 

"  Exactly  my  position,"  said  the  king,  and  felt 
pleased  at  what  he  had  been  saying. 

And  then,  since  the  American  pressed  his  idea, 
the  king  contrived  to  shift  the  talk  from  the  ques- 
tion of  celebrating  the  epoch  they  were  making  to 
the  question  of  the  probabilities  that  lay  ahead. 
Here  everyone  became  diffident.  They  could  see 
the  world  unified  at  peace,  but  what  detail  was  to 
follow  from  that  unification  they  seemed  indis- 
posed to  discuss.  This  diffidence  struck  the  king 
as  remarkable.  He  plunged  upon  the  possibilities 
of  science.  All  the  huge  expenditure  that  had 
hitherto  gone  into  unproductive  naval  and  mili- 
tary preparations,  must  now,  he  declared,  place 
research  upon  a  new  footing.  "  Where  one  man 
worked  we  will  have  a  thousand."  He  appealed 
to  Holsten.  "  We  have  only  begun  to  peep  into 
these  possibilities,"  he  said.  "  You,  at  any  rate, 
have  sounded  the  vaults  of  the  treasure  house." 

"  They  are  unfathomable,"  smiled  Holsten. 

*'  Man,"  said  the  American,  with  a  manifest 
177 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

resolve  to  justify  and  reinstate  himself  after  the 
flickering  contradictions  of  the  king,  "  man,  I  say, 
is  only  beginning  to  enter  upon  his  heritage." 

"  Tell  us  some  of  the  things  you  believe  we 
shall  presently  learn,  give  us  an  idea  of  the  things 
we  may  presently  do,"  said  the  king  to  Holsten. 

Holsten  opened  out  vistas.   .   .  . 

"  Science,"  the  king  cried  presently,  "  is  the 
new  king  of  the  world." 

"  Our  view,"  said  the  president,  "  is  that 
sovereignty  resides  with  the  people." 

"  No !  "  said  the  king,  "  the  sovereign  is  a  being 
more  subtle  than  that.  And  less  arithmetical. 
Neither  my  family  nor  your  emancipated  people. 
It  is  something  that  floats  about  us,  and  above  us, 
and  through  us.  It  is  that  common,  impersonal 
will  and  sense  of  necessity  of  which  Science  is  the 
best  understood  and  most  typical  aspect.  It  is 
the  mind  of  the  race.  It  is  that  which  has  brought 
us  here,  which  has  bowed  us  all  to  its  de- 
mands.  .  .   ." 

He  paused  and  glanced  down  the  table  at  Le- 
blanc  and  then  reopened  at  his  former  antagonist. 

"  There  is  a  disposition,"  said  the  king,  "  to 
regard  this  gathering  as  if  it  was  actually  doing 
what  it  appears  to  be  doing,  as  if  we  ninety-odd 
men,  of  our  own  free  will  and  wisdom,  were  unify- 
ing the  world.     There  is  a  temptation  to  consider 

178 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

ourselves  exceptionally  fine  fellows,  and  master- 
ful men,  and  all  the  rest  of  It.  We  are  not.  I 
doubt  if  we  should  average  out  as  anything  abler 
than  any  other  casually  selected  body  of  ninety- 
odd  men.  We  are  no  creators,  we  are  conse- 
quences, we  are  salvagers  —  or  salvagees.  The 
thing  to-day  is  not  ourselves,  but  the  wind  of  con- 
viction that  has  blown  us  hither.  .  .  ." 

The  American  had  to  confess  he  could  hardly 
agree  with  the  king's  estimate  of  their  average. 

"  Holsten,  perhaps,  and  one  or  two  others 
might  lift  us  a  little,"  the  king  conceded.  "  But 
the  rest  of  us?  " 

His  eye  flitted  once  more  towards  Leblanc. 

"  Look  at  Leblanc,"  he  said.  "  He's  just  a 
simple  soul.  There  are  hundreds  and  thousands 
like  him.  I  admit  a  certain  dexterity,  a  certain 
lucidity,  but  there  is  not  a  country  town  in  France 
where  there  is  not  a  Leblanc  or  so  to  be  found 
about  two  o'clock  in  its  principal  cafe.  It's  just 
that  he  isn't  complicated  or  Super-Mannish,  or 
any  of  those  things  that  has  made  all  he  has  done 
possible.  But  in  happier  times,  don't  you  think, 
Wilhelm,  he  would  have  remained  just  what  his 
father  was,  a  successful  epicier,  very  clean,  very 
accurate,  very  honest.  And  on  holidays  he  would 
have  gone  out  with  Madame  Leblanc  and  her 
knitting  in  a  punt  with  a  jar  of  something  gentle, 

179 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  have  sat  under  a  large,  reasonable,  green- 
lined  umbrella  and  fished  very  neatly  and  suc- 
cessfully for  gudgeon.  .  .  ." 

The  president  and  the  Japanese  prince  in  spec- 
tacles protested  together. 

"  If  I  do  him  an  injustice,"  said  the  king,  "  it 
is  only  because  I  want  to  elucidate  my  argument. 
I  want  to  make  it  clear  how  small  are  men  and 
days,  and  how  great  is  man  in  comparison.   .   .   ." 

§   4. 

So  it  was  King  Egbert  talked  at  Brissago  after 
they  had  proclaimed  the  unity  of  the  world. 
Every  evening  after  that  the  assembly  dined  to- 
gether and  talked  at  their  ease  and  grew  accus- 
tomed to  each  other  and  sharpened  each  other's 
ideas,  and  every  day  they  worked  together  and 
really  for  a  time  believed  that  they  were  inventing 
a  new  government  for  the  world.  They  dis- 
cussed a  constitution.  But  there  were  matters 
needing  attention  too  urgently  to  wait  for  any 
constitution.  They  attended  to  these  Incidentally. 
The  constitution  it  was  that  waited.  It  was  pres- 
ently found  convenient  to  keep  the  constitution 
waiting  indefinitely,  as  King  Egbert  had  foreseen, 
and  meanwhile,  with  an  increasing  self-confidence, 
that  council  went  on  governing.   .   .   . 

On  this  first  evening  of  all  the  council's  gather- 
180 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

ings,  after  King  Egbert  had  talked  for  a  long 
time  and  drunken  and  praised  very  abundantly 
the  simple  red  wine  of  the  country  that  Leblanc 
had  procured  for  them,  he  gathered  about  him  a 
group  of  congenial  spirits  and  fell  into  a  discourse 
upon  simplicity,  praising  it  above  all  things  and 
declaring  that  the  ultimate  aim  of  art,  religion, 
philosophy  and  science  alike  was  to  simplify.  He 
instanced  himself  as  a  devotee  to  simplicity.  And 
Leblanc  he  instanced  as  a  crowning  instance  of 
the  splendour  of  this  quality.  Upon  that  they 
were  all  agreed. 

When  at  last  the  company  about  the  tables 
broke  up,  the  king  found  himself  brimming  over 
with  a  peculiar  affection  and  admiration  for  Le- 
blanc, he  made  his  way  to  him  and  drew  him  aside 
and  broached  what  he  declared  was  a  small  mat- 
ter. There  was,  he  said,  a  certain  order  in  his 
gift  that,  unlike  all  other  orders  and  decorations 
in  the  world,  had  never  been  corrupted.  It  was 
reserved  only  for  elderly  men  of  supreme  distinc- 
tion, the  acuteness  of  whose  gifts  was  already 
touched  to  mellowness,  and  it  had  included  the 
greatest  names  of  every  age  so  far  as  the  advisers 
of  his  family  had  been  able  to  ascertain  them. 
At  present,  the  king  admitted,  these  matters  of 
stars  and  badges  were  rather  obscured  by  more 
urgent  affairs;  for  his  own  part,  he  had  never  set 

i8i 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

any  value  upon  them  at  all,  but  a  time  might  come 
when  they  would  be  at  least  interesting,  and,  in 
short,  he  wished  to  confer  the  Order  of  Merit 
upon  Leblanc.  His  sole  motive  in  doing  so,  he 
added,  was  his  strong  desire  to  signalise  his  per- 
sonal esteem.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  French- 
man's shoulder  as  he  said  these  things  with  an 
almost  brotherly  affection.  Leblanc  received  this 
proposal  with  a  modest  confusion  that  greatly 
enhanced  the  king's  opinion  of  his  admirable  sim- 
plicity. He  pointed  out  that,  eager  as  he  was  to 
snatch  at  the  proffered  distinction,  it  might  at  the 
present  stage  appear  invidious,  and  he  therefore 
suggested  that  the  conferring  of  it  should  be  post- 
poned until  it  could  be  made  the  crown  and  con- 
clusion of  his  services.  The  king  was  unable  to 
shake  this  resolution,  and  the  two  men  parted  with 
expressions  of  mutual  esteem. 

The  king  then  summoned  Firmin  in  order  to 
make  a  short  note  of  a  number  of  things  that  he 
had  said  during  the  day.  But  after  about  twenty 
minutes'  work  the  sweet  sleepiness  of  the  moun- 
tain air  overcame  him,  and  he  dismissed  Firmin 
and  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep  at  once,  and  slept 
with  extreme  satisfaction.  He  had  had  an  active, 
agreeable  day. 

§  5- 
The  establishment  of  the  new  order  that  was 
182 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

thus  so  humanly  begun,  was,  if  one  measures  it  by 
the  standard  of  any  preceding  age,  a  rapid  proc- 
ess. The  fighting  spirit  of  the  world  was  ex- 
hausted. Only  here  or  there  did  fierceness  linger. 
For  long  decades  the  combative  side  in  human  af- 
fairs had  been  monstrously  exaggerated  by  the 
accidents  of  political  separation.  This  now  be- 
came luminously  plain.  An  enormous  proportion 
of  the  force  that  sustained  armaments  had  been 
nothing  more  aggfessive  than  the  fear  of  war  and 
war-like  neighbours.  It  is  doubtful  if  any  large 
section  of  the  men  actually  enlisted  for  fighting 
ever  at  any  time  really  hungered  and  thirsted  for 
bloodshed  and  danger.  That  kind  of  appetite 
was  probably  never  very  strong  in  the  species 
after  the  savage  stage  was  past.  The  army  was 
a  profession,  in  which  killing  had  become  a  dis- 
agreeable possibility  rather  than  an  eventful  cer- 
tainty. If  one  reads  the  old  newspapers  and 
periodicals  of  that  time,  which  did  so  much  to 
keep  militarism  alive,  one  finds  very  little  about 
glory  and  adventure,  and  a  constant  harping  on 
the  disagreeableness  of  invasion  and  subjugation. 
In  one  word,  militarism  was  funk.  The  belliger- 
ent resolution  of  the  armed  Europe  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  was  the  resolution  of  a  fiercely 
frightened  sheep  to  plunge.  And  now  that  Its 
weapons  were  exploding  In  its  hands,  Europe  was 

183 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

only  too  eager  to  drop  them,   and  abandon  this 
fancied  refuge  of  violence. 

For  a  time  the  whole  world  had  been  shocked 
into  frankness;  nearly  all  the  clever  people  who 
had  hitherto  sustained  the  ancient  belligerent  sepa- 
rations had  now  been  brought  to  realise  the  need 
for  simplicity  of  attitude  and  openness  of  mind; 
and  in  this  atmosphere  of  moral  renascence  there 
was  little  attempt  to  get  negotiable  advantages 
out  of  resistance  to  the  new  order.  Human  be- 
ings are  foolish  enough,  no  doubt,  but  few  have 
stopped  to  haggle  in  a  fire-escape.  The  council 
had  its  way  with  them.  The  band  of  "  patriots  " 
who  seized  the  laboratories  and  arsenal  just  out- 
side Osaka  and  tried  to  rouse  Japan  to  revolt 
against  inclusion  in  the  Republic  of  Mankind, 
found  they  had  miscalculated  the  national  pride, 
and  met  the  swift  vengeance  of  their  own  coun- 
trymen. That  fight  in  the  arsenal  was  a  vivid 
incident  In  this  closing  chapter  of  the  history  of 
war.  To  the  last  the  "  patriots  "  were  undecided 
whether  In  the  event  of  a  defeat  they  would  ex- 
plode their  supply  of  atomic  bombs  or  not.  They 
were  fighting  with  swords  outside  the  iridium 
doors,  and  the  moderates  of  their  number  were 
at  bay  and  on  the  verge  of  destruction,  only  ten 
indeed  remained  unwounded  when  the  republicans 
burst  In  to  the  rescue.   .   .   . 

184 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

§  6. 

One  single  monarch  held  out  against  the  general 
acquiescence  In  the  new  rule,  and  that  was  that 
strange  survival  of  medlsevallsm,  the  "  Slavic 
fox,"  the  King  of  the  Balkans.  He  debated  and 
delayed  his  submissions.  He  showed  an  extraor- 
dinary combination  of  cunning  and  temerity  In 
his  evasion  of  the  repeated  summonses  from  Brls- 
sago.  He  affected  Ill-health  and  a  great  preoccu- 
pation with  his  new  official  mistress,  for  his 
seml-barbaric  court  was  arranged  on  the  best  ro- 
mantic models.  His  tactics  were  ably  seconded 
by  Doctor  Pestovltch,  his  chief  minister.  Fail- 
ing to  establish  his  claims  to  complete  independ- 
ence, King  Ferdinand  Charles  annoyed  the 
conference  by  a  proposal  to  be  treated  as  a  pro- 
tected state.  Finally,  he  professed  an  unconvin- 
cing submission,  and  put  a  mass  of  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  the  transfer  of  his  national  officials  to 
the  new  government.  In  these  things  he  was  en- 
thusiastically supported  by  his  subjects,  still  for 
the  most  part  an  illiterate  peasantry,  passionately 
if  confusedly  patriotic,  and  so  far  with  no  practi- 
cal knowledge  of  the  effect  of  atomic  bombs. 
More  particularly  he  retained  control  of  all  the 
Balkan  aeroplanes. 

For  once  the  extreme  naivete  of  Leblanc  seems 
to  have  been  mitigated  by   duplicity.     He  went 

185 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

on  with  the  general  pacification  of  the  world  as  if 
the  Balkan  submission  was  made  in  absolute  good 
faith,  and  he  announced  the  disbandment  of  the 
force  of  aeroplanes  that  had  hitherto  guarded  the 
council  at  Brissago  upon  the  approaching  fifteenth 
of  July.  But  instead  he  doubled  the  number  upon 
duty  on  that  eventful  day  and  made  various  ar- 
rangements for  their  disposition.  He  consulted 
certain  experts,  and  when  he  took  King  Egbert 
into  his  confidence  there  was  something  in  his  neat 
and  explicit  foresight  that  brought  back  to  that 
ex-monarch's  mind  his  half-forgotten  fantasy  of 
Leblanc  as  a  fisherman  under  a  green  umbrella. 
About  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  seven- 
teenth of  July  one  of  the  outer  sentinels  of  the 
Brissago  fleet,  which  was  soaring  unobtrusively 
over  the  lower  end  of  the  lake  of  Garda,  sighted 
and  hailed  a  strange  aeroplane  that  was  flying 
westward  and,  failing  to  get  a  satisfactory  reply, 
set  its  wireless  apparatus  talking  and  gave  chase. 
A  swarm  of  consorts  appeared  very  promptly  over 
the  westward  mountains,  and  before  the  unknown 
aeroplane  had  sighted  Como,  it  had  a  dozen  eager 
attendants  closing  in  upon  it.  Its  driver  seems  to 
have  hesitated,  dropped  down  among  the  moun- 
tains, and  then  turned  southward  in  flight,  only 
to  find  an  intercepting  biplane  sweeping  across  his 
bows.     He  then  went  round  into  the  eye  of  the 

i86 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

rising  sun,  and  passed  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
his  original  pursuer. 

The  sharpshooter  therein  opened  fire  at  once, 
and  showed  an  intelligent  grasp  of  the  situation 
by  disabling  the  passenger  first.  The  man  at  the 
wheel  must  have  heard  his  companion  cry  out 
behind  him,  but  he  was  too  intent  on  getting  away 
to  waste  even  a  glance  behind.  Twice  after  that 
he  must  have  heard  shots.  He  let  his  engine  go, 
he  crouched  down,  and  for  twenty  minutes  he  must 
have  steered  In  the  continual  expectation  of  a 
bullet.  It  never  came,  and  when  at  last  he 
glanced  round  three  great  planes  were  close  upon 
him,  and  his  companion,  thrice  hit,  lay  dead  across 
his  bombs.  His  followers  manifestly  did  not 
mean  either  to  upset  or  shoot  him,  but  Inexorably 
they  drove  him  down,  down.  At  last  he  was 
curving  and  flying  a  hundred  yards  or  less  over 
the  level  fields  of  rice  and  maize.  Ahead  of  him 
and  dark  against  the  morning  sunrise  was  a  village 
with  a  very  tall  and  slender  campanile  and  a  line 
of  cable-bearing  metal  standards  that  he  could 
not  clear.  He  stopped  his  engine  abruptly  and 
dropped  flat.  He  may  have  hoped  to  get  at  the 
bombs  when  he  came  down,  but  his  pitiless  pur- 
suers drove  right  over  him  and  shot  him  as  he 
fell. 

Three  other  aeroplanes  curved  down  and  came 
187 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

to  rest  amidst  the  crushed  grass  close  by  the 
smashed  machine.  Their  passengers  descended, 
and  ran  holding  their  light  rifles  in  their  hands 
towards  the  debris  and  the  two  dead  men.  The 
coffin-shaped  box  that  had  occupied  the  centre  of 
the  machine  had  broken,  and  three  black  objects, 
each  with  two  handles  like  the  ears  of  a  pitcher, 
lay  peacefully  amidst  the  litter. 

These  objects  were  so  tremendously  important 
in  the  eyes  of  their  captors  that  they  disregarded 
the  two  dead  men  who  lay  bloody  and  broken 
amidst  the  wreckage  as  they  might  have  disre- 
garded dead  frogs  by  a  country  pathway. 

"By  God!"  cried  the  first.  "Here  they 
are!" 

"And  unbroken!  "  said  the  second. 

"  I've  never  seen  the  things  before,"  said  the 
first. 

"  Bigger  than  I  thought,"  said  the  second. 

The  third  comer  arrived.  He  stared  for  a 
moment  at  the  bombs  and  then  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  dead  man  with  a  crushed  chest  who  lay  in  a 
muddy  place  among  the  green  stems  under  the 
centre  of  the  machine. 

"  One  can  take  no  risks,"  he  said,  with  a  faint 
suggestion  of  apology. 

The  other  two  now  also  turned  to  the  victims. 
"  We  must  signal,"  said  the  first  man.     A  shadow 

i88 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

passed  between  them  and  the  sun,  and  they  looked 
up  to  see  the  aeroplane  that  had  fired  the  last  shot. 
"Shall  we  signal?"  came  a  megaphone  hail. 

"  Three  bombs,"   they   answered  together. 

"Where  do  they  come  from?"  asked  the 
megaphone. 

The  three  sharpshooters  looked  at  each  other 
and  then  moved  towards  the  dead  men.  One  of 
them  had  an  idea.  "  Signal  that  first,"  he  said, 
"  while  we  look."  They  were  joined  by  their 
aviators  for  the  search,  and  all  six  men  began  a 
hunt  that  was  necessarily  brutal  in  its  haste,  for 
some  indication  of  identity.  They  examined  the 
men's  pockets,  their  bloodstained  clothes,  the  ma- 
chine, the  framework.  They  turned  the  bodies 
over  and  flung  them  aside.  There  was  not  a  tat- 
too mark.  .  .  .  Everything  was  elaborately  free 
of  any  indication  of  its  origin. 

"  He  can't  find  out!  "  they  called  at  last. 

"Not  a  sign?" 

"  Not  a  sign." 

"  I'm  coming  down,"  said  the  man  over- 
head. .   .  . 

§  7- 

The  Slavic  fox  stood  upon  a  metal  balcony  in 
his  picturesque  Art-Nouveau  palace  that  gave 
upon  the  precipice  that  overhung  his  bright  little 

189 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

capital  and  beside  him  stood  Pestovltch,  grizzled 
and  cunning  and  now  full  of  an  Ill-suppressed  ex- 
citement. Behind  them  the  window  opened  Into 
a  large  room  richly  decorated  in  aluminium  and 
crimson  enamel,  across  which  the  king,  as  he 
glanced  ever  and  again  over  his  shoulder  with  a 
gesture  of  Inquiry,  could  see  through  the  two  open 
doors  of  a  little  azure-walled  antechamber  the 
wireless  operator  In  the  turret  working  at  his 
Incessant  transcription.  Two  pompously  uni- 
formed messengers  waited  listlessly  In  this 
apartment.  The  room  was  furnished  with  a 
stately  dignity,  and  had  in  the  middle  of  it  a  big 
green  baize-covered  table  with  the  massive  white 
metal  Inkpots  and  antiquated  sand-boxes  natural 
to  a  new  but  romantic  monarchy.  It  was  the 
king's  council  chamber,  and  about  It  now,  in  at- 
titudes of  suspended  intrigue,  stood  the  half  dozen 
ministers  who  constituted  his  cabinet.  They  had 
been  summoned  for  twelve  o'clock,  but  still  at 
half-past  twelve  the  king  loitered  In  the  balcony 
and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  news  that  did 
not  come. 

The  king  and  his  minister  had  talked  at  first  in 
whispers;  they  had  fallen  silent,  for  they  found 
little  now  to  express  except  a  vague  anxiety. 
Away  there  on  the  mountain  side  were  the  white 
metal  roofs  of  the  long  farm  buildings,  beneath 

190 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

which  the  bomb  factory  and  the  bombs  were  hid- 
den. (The  chemist  who  had  made  all  these  for 
the  king  had  died  suddenly  after  the  declaration 
of  Brissago.)  Nobody  knew  of  that  store  of 
mischief  now  but  the  king  and  his  adviser  and 
three  heavily  faithful  attendants ;  the  aviators  who 
waited  now  in  the  midday  blaze  vv^ith  their  bomb- 
carrying  machines  and  their  passenger  bomb- 
throwers  in  the  exercising  grounds  of  the 
motor-cyclist  barracks  below  were  still  in  igno- 
rance of  the  position  of  the  ammunition  they  were 
presently  to  take  up.  It  was  time  they  started  if 
the  scheme  was  to  work  as  Pestovitch  had  planned 
it.  It  was  a  magnificent  plan.  It  aimed  at  no 
less  than  the  Empire  of  the  World.  The  govern- 
ment of  idealists  and  professors  away  there  at 
Brissago  was  to  be  blown  to  fragments,  and  then 
east,  west,  north  and  south  those  aeroplanes 
would  go  swarming  over  a  world  that  had  dis- 
armed itself,  to  proclaim  Ferdinand  Charles,  the 
new  Caesar,  the  Master,  Lord  of  the  Earth. 

It  was  a  magnificent  plan.  But  the  tension  of 
this  waiting  for  news  of  the  success  of  the  first 
blow  was  —  considerable. 

The  Slavic  fox  was  of  a  pallid  fairness,  he  had 
a  remarkably  long  nose,  a  thick,  short  moustache, 
and  small  blue  eyes  that  were  a  little  too  near 
together  to  be  pleasant.     It  was  his  habit  to  worry 

191 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

his  moustache  with  short,  nervous  tugs  whenever 
his  restless  mind  troubled  him,  and  now  this  emo- 
tion was  becoming  so  incessant  that  it  irked  Pesto- 
vitch  beyond  the  limits  of  endurance. 

*'  I  will  go,"  said  the  minister,  "  and  see  what 
the  trouble  is  with  the  wireless.  They  give  us 
nothing,  good  or  bad." 

Left  to  himself,  the  king  could  worry  his  mous- 
tache without  stint;  he  leant  his  elbows  forward 
on  the  balcony  and  gave  both  of  his  long  white 
hands  to  the  w^ork,  so  that  he  looked  like  a  pale 
dog  gnawing  a  bone.  Suppose  they  caught  his 
men,  what  should  he  do?  Suppose  they  caught 
his  men? 

The  clocks  in  the  light,  gold-capped  belfries  of 
the  town  below  presently  intimated  the  half-hour 
after  midday. 

Of  course,  he  and  Pestovitch  had  thought  it 
out.  Even  if  they  had  caught  those  men, 
they  were  pledged  to  secrecy.  .  .  .  Probably 
they  would  be  killed  in  the  catching.  .  .  .  One 
could  deny  anyhow,  deny  and  deny. 

And  then  he  became  aware  of  half  a  dozen 
little  shining  specks  very  high  in  the  blue.   .   .   . 

Pestovitch  came  out  to  him  presently.  "  The 
government  messages.  Sire,  have  all  dropped  into 

cypher,"  he  said.     "  I  have  set  a  man " 

192 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  Look!  ''  Interrupted  the  king,  and  pointed  up- 
ward with  a  long,  lean  finger. 

Pestovitch  followed  that  indication  and  then 
glanced  for  one  questioning  moment  at  the  white 
face  before  him. 

"  We  have  to  face  it  out,  Sire,"  he  said. 

For  some  moments  they  watched  the  steep 
spirals  of  the  descending  messengers,  and  then 
they  began  a  hasty  consultation.   .  .   . 

They  decided  that  to  be  holding  a  council  upon 
the  details  of  an  ultimate  surrender  to  Brissago 
was  as  innocent-looking  a  thing  as  the  king  could 
well  be  doing,  and  so  when  at  last  the  ex-king 
Egbert,  whom  the  council  had  sent  as  its  envoy, 
arrived  upon  the  scene,  he  discovered  the  king 
almost  theatrically  posed  at  the  head  of  his  coun- 
cillors in  the  midst  of  his  court.  The  door  upon 
the  wireless  operators  was  shut. 

The  ex-king  from  Brissago  came  like  a  draught 
through  the  curtains  and  attendants  that  gave  a 
wide  margin  to  King  Ferdinand's  state,  and  the 
familiar  confidence  of  his  manner  belied  a  certain 
hardness  in  his  eye.  Firmin  trotted  behind  him 
and  no  one  else  was  with  him.  And  as  Ferdinand 
Charles  rose  to  greet  him,  there  came  into  the 
heart  of  the  Balkan  king  again  that  same  chilly 
feeling  that  he  had  felt  upon  the  balcony  —  and  it 
passed  at  the  careless  gestures  of  his  guest.     For 

193 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

surely  anyone  might  outwit  this  foolish  talker 
who,  for  a  mere  idea  and  at  the  command  of  a 
little  French  rationalist  in  spectacles,  had  thrown 
away  the  most  ancient  crown  in  all  the  world. 

One  must  deny,  deny.   .   .   . 

And  then  slowly  and  quite  tiresomely  he  real- 
ised that  there  was  nothing  to  deny.  His  visitor, 
with  an  amiable  ease,  went  on  tallying  about  every- 
thing in  debate  between  himself  and  Brissago,  ex- 
cept   . 

Could  it  be  that  they  had  been  delayed  ?  Could 
it  be  that  they  had  had  to  drop  for  repairs  and 
were  still  uncaptured?  Could  it  be  that  even  now 
while  this  fool  babbled,  they  were  over  there 
among  the  mountains  heaving  their  deadly  charge 
over  the  side  of  the  aeroplane? 

Strange  hopes  began  to  lift  the  tail  of  the  Slavic 
fox  again. 

What  was  the  man  saying?  One  must  talk  to 
him  anyhow  until  one  knew.  At  any  moment  the 
little  brass  door  behind  him  might  open  with  the 
news  of  Brissago  blown  to  atoms.  Then  it  would 
be  a  delightful  relief  to  the  present  tension  to  ar- 
rest this  chatterer  forthwith.  He  might  be  killed 
perhaps.     WTiat? 

The  king  was  repeating  his  observation. 
*'  They  have  a  ridiculous  fancy  that  your  confi- 
dence is  based  on  the  possession  of  atomic  bombs." 

194 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

King  Ferdinand  Charles  pulled  himself  to- 
gether.    He  protested. 

"  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  the  ex-king,  "  quite  so." 

"What  grounds?" 

The  ex-king  permitted  himself  a  gesture  and  the 
ghost  of  a  chuckle  —  why  the  devil  should  he 
chuckle?  "Practically  none,"  he  said.  "But, 
of  course,  with  these  things  one  has  to  be  so  care- 
ful." 

And  then  again  for  an  instant  something  — 
like  the  faintest  shadow  of  derision  —  gleamed 
out  of  the  envoy's  eyes  and  recalled  that  chilly 
feeling  to  King  Ferdinand's  spine. 

Some  kindred  depression  had  come  to  Pesto- 
vitch,  who  had  been  watching  the  drawn  intensity 
of  FIrmin's  face.  He  came  to  the  help  of  his 
master,  who,  he  feared,  might  protest  too  much. 

"A  search!"  cried  the  king.  "An  embargo 
on  our  aeroplanes!  " 

"  Only  as  a  temporary  expedient,"  said  the  ex- 
king  Egbert,  "  while  the  search  is  going  on." 

The  king  appealed  to  his  council. 

"  The  people  will  never  permit  it.  Sire,"  said  a 
bustling  little  man  in  a  gorgeous  uniform. 

"  You'll  have  to  make  'em,"  said  the  ex-king, 
genially  addressing  all  the  councillors. 

King  Ferdinand  glanced  at  the  closed  brass  door 
through  which  no  news  would  come. 

195 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  When  would  you  want  to  have  this  search?  " 

The  ex-king  was  radiant.  "  We  couldn't  pos- 
sibly do  it  until  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"Just  the  capital?  " 

"Where  else?"  asked  the  ex-king  still  more 
cheerfully. 

"  For  my  own  part,"  said  the  ex-king,  confi- 
dentially, "  I  think  the  whole  business  ridiculous. 
Who  would  be  such  a  fool  as  to  hide  atomic 
bombs?  Nobody.  Certain  hanging  if  he's 
caught, —  certain,  and  almost  certain  blowing  up 
if  he  isn't.  But  nowadays  I  have  to  take  orders 
like  the  rest  of  the  world.     And  here  I  am." 

The  king  thought  he  had  never  met  such  de- 
testable geniality.  He  glanced  at  Pestovitch, 
who  nodded  almost  imperceptibly.  It  was  well, 
anyhow,  to  have  a  fool  to  deal  with.  They  might 
have  sent  a  diplomatist.  "  Of  course,"  said  the 
king,  "  I  recognise  the  overpowering  force  —  and 
a  kind  of  logic  —  in  these  orders  from  Brissago." 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  said  the  ex-king  with  an 
air  of  relief,  "  and  so  let  us  arrange " 

They  arranged  with  a  certain  informality. 
No  Balkan  aeroplane  was  to  adventure  into  the 
air  until  the  search  was  concluded,  and  meanwhile 
the  fleets  of  the  world-government  would  soar 
and  circle  in  the  sky.  The  towns  were  to  be 
placarded  with  offers  of  reward  to  anyone  who 

196 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

would  help  in  the  discovery  of  atomic  bombs.  .  .  . 

"  You  will  sign  that,"  said  the  ex-king. 

"Why?" 

"  To  show  that  we  aren't  in  any  way  hostile  to 
you." 

Pestovitch  nodded  "  yes  "  to  his  master. 

"  And  then  you  see,"  said  the  ex-king  in  that 
easy  way  of  his,  "  we'll  have  a  lot  of  men  here, 
borrow  help  from  your  police  and  run  through 
all  your  things.  And  then  everything  will  be  over. 
Meanwhile,  if  I  may  be  your  guest — .  .  .  ." 

When  presently  Pestovitch  was  alone  with  the 
king  again,  he  found  him  in  a  state  of  jangling 
emotions.  His  spirit  was  tossing  like  a  wind- 
whipped  sea.  One  moment  he  was  exalted  and 
full  of  contempt  for  "that  ass"  and  his  search; 
the  next  he  was  down  in  a  pit  of  dread.  "  They 
will  find  them,  Pestovitch,  and  then  he'll  hang 
us." 

"Hang  us?" 

The  king  put  his  long  nose  into  his  councillor's 
face.  "  That  grinning  brute  wants  to  hang  us," 
he  said.  "  And  hang  us  he  will.  If  we  give  him 
a  shadow  of  a  chance." 

"  But  all  their  Modern  State  civilisation !  " 

"  Do  you  think  there's  any  pity  in  that  crew 
of  Godless,  Vivisecting  Prigs?"  cried  this  last 
king  of  romance.     "  Do  you  think,   Pestovitch, 

197 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

they  understand  anything  of  a  high  ambition  or 
a  splendid  dream?  Do  you  think  that  our  gallant 
and  sublime  adventure  has  any  appeal  to  them? 
\  Here  am  I,  the  last  and  greatest  and  most  ro- 
i  mantic  of  the  Caesars,  and  do  you  think  they  will 
miss  the  chance  of  hanging  me  like  a  dog  if  they 
can,  killing  me  like  a  rat  in  a  hole?  And  that 
renegade !  He  who  was  once  an  anointed 
king!  .  .  ." 

"  I  hate  that  sort  of  eye  that  laughs  and  keeps 
hard,"  said  the  king. 

"  I  won't  sit  still  here  and  be  caught  like  a 
fascinated  rabbit,"  said  the  king  in  conclusion. 
"  We  must  shift  those  bombs." 

"  Risk  it,"  said  Pestovitch.  "  Leave  them 
alone." 

"  No,"  said  the  king.  "  Shift  them  near  the 
frontier.  Then  while  they  watch  us  here  —  they 
will  always  watch  us  here  now  —  we  can  buy  an 
aeroplane  abroad,  and  pick  them  up.  .  .  ." 

The  king  was  in  a  feverish,  irritable  mood  all 
that  evening,  but  he  made  his  plans  nevertheless 
with  infinite  cunning.  They  must  get  the  bombs 
away;  there  must  be  a  couple  of  atomic  hay  lorries, 
the  bombs  could  be  hidden  under  the  hay.  .  .  . 
Pestovitch  went  and  came,  instructing  trusty  serv- 
ants, planning  and  replanning.  .  .  .  The  king 
and  the  ex-king  dined  together,  and  the  ex-king 

198 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

talked  very  pleasantly  of  a  number  of  subjects. 
All  the  while  at  the  back  of  King  Ferdinand 
Charles's  mind  fretted  the  mystery  of  his  vanished 
aeroplane.  There  came  no  news  of  its  capture 
and  no  news  of  its  success.  At  any  moment  all 
that  power  at  the  back  of  his  visitor  might  crumble 
away  and  vanish.   .   .   . 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  king  in  a  cloak 
and  slouch  hat  that  might  equally  have  served 
a  small  farmer  or  any  respectable  middle-class 
man,  slipped  out  from  an  inconspicuous  service 
gate  on  the  eastward  side  of  his  palace  into  the 
thickly  wooded  gardens  that  sloped  in  a  series  of 
terraces  down  to  the  town.  Pestovitch  and  his 
guard-valet  Peter,  both  wrapped  about  in  a  similar 
disguise,  came  out  among  the  laurels  that  bordered 
the  pathway  and  joined  him.  It  was  a  clear, 
warm  night,  but  the  stars  seemed  unusually  little 
and  remote  because  of  the  aeroplanes,  each  trail- 
ing a  searchlight,  that  drove  hither  and  thither 
across  the  blue.  One  great  beam  had  seemed  to 
rest  on  the  king  for  a  moment  as  he  came  out  of 
the  palace;  then  instantly  and  reassuringly  it  had 
swept  away.  But  while  they  were  still  in  the 
palace  gardens  another  found  them  and  looked 
at  them. 

"  They  see  us,"  cried  the  king. 

"  They  make  nothing  of  us,"  said  Pestovitch. 
199 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

The  king  glanced  up  and  met  a  calm  round  eye 
of  light,  that  seemed  to  wink  at  him  and  vanish, 
leaving  him  blinded.  .  .  . 

The  three  men  went  on  their  way.  Near  the 
little  gate  in  the  garden  railings  that  Pestovitch 
had  caused  to  be  unlocked,  the  king  paused  under 
the  shadow  of  an  ilex  and  looked  back  at  the  pal- 
ace. It  was  very  high  and  narrow,  a  twentieth- 
century  rendering  of  mediaevalism,  mediaevalism 
in  steel  and  bronze  and  sham  stone  and  opaque 
glass.  Against  the  sky  it  splashed  a  confusion  of 
pinnacles.  High  up  in  the  eastward  wing  were 
the  windows  of  the  apartments  of  the  ex-king 
Egbert.  One  of  them  was  brightly  lit  now,  and 
against  the  light  a  little  black  figure  stood  very 
still  and  looked  out  upon  the  night. 

The  king  snarled. 

"  He  little  knows  how  we  slip  through  his  fin- 
gers," said  Pestovitch. 

And  as  he  spoke  they  saw  the  ex-king  stretch 
out  his  arms  slowly  like  one  who  yawns,  knuckle 
his  eyes,  and  turn  inward  —  no  doubt  to  his  bed. 

Down  through  the  ancient  winding  back  streets 
of  his  capital  hurried  the  king,  and  at  an  appointed 
corner  a  shabby  atomi-automobile  waited  for  the 
three.  It  was  a  hackney-carriage  of  the  lowest 
grade,  with  dinted  metal  panels  and  deflated 
cushions.     The  driver  was  one  of  the  ordinary 

200 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

drivers  of  the  capital,  but  beside  him  sat  the  young 
secretary  of  Pestovitch,  who  knew  the  way  to  the 
farm  where  the  bombs  were  hidden. 

The  automobile  made  its  way  through  the  nar- 
row streets  of  the  old  town,  which  were  still  lit 
and  uneasy — for  the  fleet  of  airships  overhead 
had  kept  the  cafes  open  and  people  abroad  — 
over  the  great  new  bridge,  and  so  by  straggling 
outskirts  to  the  country.  And  all  through  his  cap- 
ital the  king  who  hoped  to  outdo  Caesar  sat  back 
and  was  very  still,  and  no  one  spoke.  And  as 
they  got  out  into  the  dark  country  they  became 
aware  of  the  searchlights  wandering  over  the 
countryside  like  the  uneasy  ghosts  of  giants.  The 
king  sat  forward  and  looked  at  these  flitting  white- 
nesses, and  every  now  and  then  peered  up  to  see 
the  flying  ships  overhead. 

"  I  don'l  like  them,"  said  the  king. 

Presently  one  of  these  patches  of  moonlight 
came  to  rest  about  them  and  seemed  to  be  follow- 
ing their  automobile.     The  king  drew  back. 

"  The  things  are  confoundedly  noiseless,"  said 
the  king.  "  It's  like  being  stalked  by  lean  white 
cats." 

He  peered  again.  "  That  fellow  is  watching 
us,"  he  said. 

And  then  suddenly  he  gave  way  to  panic. 
"  Pestovitch,"  he  said,  clutching  his  minister's  arm, 

201 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  they  are  watching  us.  I'm  not  going  through 
with  this.  They  are  watching  us.  I'm  going 
back." 

Pestovitch  remonstrated.  "  Tell  him  to  go 
back,"  said  the  king  and  tried  to  open  the  window. 
For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  grim  struggle  in 
the  automobile;  a  gripping  of  wrists  and  a  blow. 
"  I  can't  go  through  with  it,"  repeated  the  king, 
*'  I  can't  go  through  with  it." 

"  But  they'll  hang  us,"  said  Pestovitch. 

"  Not  if  we  were  to  give  up  now.  Not  if  we 
were  to  surrender  the  bombs.  It  is  you  who 
brought  me  into  this.   .   .  ." 

At  last  Pestovitch  compromised.  There  was 
an  inn  perhaps  half  a  mile  from  the  farm.  They 
could  alight  there  and  the  king  could  get  brandy. 
And  rest  his  nerves  for  a  time.  And  if  he  still 
thought  fit  to  go  back  he  could  go  back.  "  See," 
said  Pestovitch,  "  the  light  has  gone  again." 

The  king  peered  up.  "  I  believe  he's  follow- 
ing us  without  a  light,"  said  the  king. 

In  the  little  old  dirty  inn  the  king  hung  doubtful 
for  a  time  and  was  for  going  back  and  throwing 
himself  on  the  mercy  of  the  council.  "  If  there  is 
a  council,"  said  Pestovitch,  "  By  this  time  your 
bombs  may  have  settled  it." 

"  But  if  so,  these  infernal  aeroplanes  would  go." 

'*  They  may  not  know  yet." 

202 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

"  But,  Pestovitch,  why  couldn't  you  do  all  this 
without  me  ?  " 

Pestovitch  made  no  answer  for  a  moment.  "  I 
was  for  leaving  the  bombs  in  their  place,"  he  said 
at  last  and  went  to  the  window.  About  their 
conveyance  shone  a  circle  of  bright  light.  Pesto- 
vitch had  a  brilliant  idea.  "  I  will  send  my  secre- 
tary out  to  make  a  kind  of  dispute  with  the  driver. 
Something  that  will  make  them  watch  up  above 
there.  Meanwhile  you  and  I  and  Peter  will  go 
out  by  the  back  way  and  up  by  the  hedges  to  the 
farm.  .   .  ." 

It  was  worthy  of  his  subtle  reputation,  and  it 
answered  passing  well. 

In  ten  minutes  they  were  tumbling  over  the  wall 
of  the  farmyard,  wet,  muddy  and  breathless,  but 
unobserved.  But  as  they  ran  towards  the  barns, 
the  king  gave  vent  to  something  between  a  groan 
and  a  curse,  and  all  about  them  shone  the  light  — 
and  passed. 

But  had  it  passed  at  once  or  lingered  for  just 
a  second? 

"  They  didn't  see  us,"  said  Peter. 

"  I  don't  think  they  saw  us,"  said  the  king,  and 
stared  as  the  light  went  swooping  up  the  mountain- 
side, hung  for  a  second  about  a  hayrick  and  then 
came  pouring  back. 

"  Into  the  barn !  "  cried  the  king. 
203 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

He  bruised  his  shin  against  something,  and  then 
all  three  men  were  inside  the  huge  steel-girdered 
barn  in  which  stood  the  two  motor  hay-lorries 
that  were  to  take  the  bombs  away.  Kurt  and 
Abel,  the  two  brothers  of  Peter,  had  brought  the 
lorries  thither  in  daylight.  They  had  the  upper 
half  of  the  loads  of  hay  thrown  off,  ready  to  cover 
the  bombs,  so  soon  as  the  king  should  show  the 
hiding  place.  "  There's  a  sort  of  pit  here,"  said 
the  king.  "  Don't  light  another  lantern.  This 
key  of  mine  releases  a  ring.   .  .   ." 

For  a  time  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  in  the 
darkness  of  the  barn.  There  was  the  sound  of 
a  slab  being  lifted  and  then  of  feet  descending 
the  ladder  into  a  pit.  Then  whispering  and  then 
heavy  breathing  as  Kurt  came  struggling  up  with 
the  first  of  the  hidden  bombs. 

"  We  shall  do  it  yet,"  said  the  king.  And  then 
he  gasped.  "  Curse  that  light.  Why  in  the 
name  of  heaven  didn't  we  shut  the  barn  door?  " 
For  the  great  door  stood  wide  open  and  all  the 
empty,  lifeless  yard  outside  and  the  door  and 
six  feet  of  the  floor  of  the  barn  were  in  the  blue 
glare  of  an  inquiring  searchlight. 

*'  Shut  the  door,  Peter,"  said  Pestovitch. 

"  No !  "  cried  the  king  too  late,  as  Peter  went 
forward  into  the  light.  "  Don't  show  yourself!  " 
cried  the  king.     Kurt  made  a  step  forward  and 

204 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

plucked  his  brother  back.  For  a  time  all  five  men 
stood  still.  It  seemed  that  light  would  never 
go,  and  then  abruptly  it  was  turned  off,  leaving 
them  blinded.  "  Now,"  said  the  king  uneasily, 
"  now  shut  the  door." 

"  Not  completely,"  cried  Pestovitch.  "  Leave 
a  chink  for  us  to  go  out  by.   .  .  ." 

It  was  hot  work  shifting  those  bombs,  and  the 
king  worked  for  a  time  like  a  common  man.  Kurt 
and  Abel  carried  the  great  things  up,  and  Peter 
brought  them  to  the  carts,  and  the  king  and  Pes- 
tovitch helped  him  to  place  them  among  the  hay. 
They  made  as  little  noise  as  they  could.   .  .  . 

"  Ssh!  "  cried  the  king.     "  What's  that?  " 

But  Kurt  and  Abel  did  not  hear,  and  came  blun- 
dering up  the  ladder  with  the  last  of  the  load. 

"Ssh!"  Peter  ran  forward  to  them  with  a 
whispered  remonstrance.     Now  they  were  still. 

The  barn  door  opened  a  little  wider,  and  against 
the  dim  blue  light  outside  they  saw  the  black  shape 
of  a  man. 

"Anyone  here?"  he  asked,  speaking  with  an 
Italian  accent. 

The  king  broke  into  a  cold  perspiration.  Then 
Pestovitch  answered.  "  Only  a  poor  farmer 
loading  hay,"  he  said,  and  picked  up  a  huge  hay 
fork  and  went  forward  softly. 

"  You  load  your  hay  at  a  very  bad  time  and  in 
205 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

a  very  bad  light,"  said  the  man  at  the  door,  peer- 
ing in.     "  Have  you  no  electric  light  here?  " 

Then  suddenly  he  turned  on  an  electric  torch, 
and  as  he  did  so  Pestovitch  sprang  forward. 
"  Get  out  of  my  barn!  "  he  cried  and  drove  the 
fork  full  at  the  intruder's  chest.  He  had  a  vague 
idea  that  so  he  might  stab  the  man  to  silence. 
But  the  man  shouted  loudly  as  the  prongs  pierced 
him  and  drove  him  backward,  and  instantly  there 
was  a  sound  of  feet  running  across  the  yard. 

"Bombs!"  cried  the  man  upon  the  ground, 
struggling  with  the  prongs  in  his  hand,  and  as 
Pestovitch  staggered  forward  into  view  with  the 
force  of  his  own  thrust,  he  was  shot  through  the 
body  by  one  of  the  two  newcomers. 

The  man  on  the  ground  was  badly  hurt  but 
plucky.  "Bombs!"  he  repeated,  and  struggled 
up  into  a  kneeling  position  and  held  his  electric 
torch  full  upon  the  face  of  the  king.  "  Shoot 
them!  "  he  cried,  coughing  and  spitting  blood,  so 
that  the  halo  of  light  round  the  king's  head  danced 
about. 

For  a  moment  in  that  shivering  circle  of  light 
the  two  men  saw  the  king  kneeling  up  in  the  cart 
and  Peter  on  the  barn  floor  beside  him.  The  old 
fox  looked  at  them  sideways  —  snared,  a  white- 
faced  evil  thing.  And  then  as,  with  a  faltering 
suicidal  heroism,  he  leant  forward  over  the  bomb 

206 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

before  him,  they  fired  together  and  shot  him 
through  the  head. 

The  upper  part  of  his  face  seemed  to  vanish. 

"  Shoot  them!  "  cried  the  man  who  had  been 
stabbed.     "  Shoot  them  all !  " 

And  then  his  light  went  out,  and  he  rolled  over 
with  a  groan  at  the  feet  of  his  comrades. 

But  each  carried  a  light  of  his  own,  and  in 
another  moment  everything  in  the  barn  was  visible 
again.  They  shot  Peter  even  as  he  held  up  his 
hands  in  sign  of  surrender. 

Kurt  and  Abel  at  the  head  of  the  ladder  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment  and  then  plunged  backward 
into  the  pit.  "  If  we  don't  kill  them,"  said  one 
of  the  sharpshooters,  "  they'll  blow  us  to 
rags.  They've  gone  down  that  hatchway. 
Come !   .   .   . 

"Here  they  are.  Hands  up,  I  say!  Hold 
your  light  while  I  shoot.  .  .  ." 


It  was  still  quite  dark  when  his  valet  and  Firmin 
came  together  and  told  the  ex-king  Egbert  that  the 
business  was  settled. 

He  started  up  into  a  sitting  position  on  the 
side  of  his  bed. 

"  Did  he  go  out?  "  asked  the  ex-king. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Firmin.  "  He  was  shot." 
207 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

The  ex-king  reflected.  *'  That's  about  the 
best  thing  that  could  have  happened,"  he  said. 
"Where  are  the  bombs?  In  that  farmhouse  on 
the  opposite  hillside !  Why,  the  place  is  in  sight ! 
Let  us  go.  I'll  dress.  Is  there  anyone  in  the 
place,  Firmin,  to  get  us  a  cup  of  coffee?  " 

Through  the  hungry  twilight  of  the  dawn  the 
ex-king's  automobile  carried  him  to  the  farmhouse, 
where  the  last  rebel  king  was  lying  among  his 
bombs.  The  rim  of  the  sky  flashed,  the  east 
grew  bright,  and  the  sun  was  just  rising  over  the 
hills  when  King  Egbert  reached  the  farmyard. 
There  he  found  the  hay-lorries  drawn  out  from  the 
barn  with  the  dreadful  bombs  still  packed  upon 
them.  A  couple  of  score  of  aviators  held  the 
yard,  and  outside  a  few  peasants  stood  in  a  little 
group  and  stared,  ignorant  as  yet  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. Against  the  stone  wall  of  the  farmyard 
five  bodies  were  lying  neatly  side  by  side,  and 
Pestovitch  had  an  expression  of  surprise  on  his 
face,  and  the  king  was  chiefly  identifiable  by  his 
long  white  hands  and  his  blonde  moustache.  The 
wounded  aeronaut  had  been  carried  down  to  the 
inn.  And  after  the  ex-king  had  given  directions 
in  what  manner  the  bombs  were  to  be  taken  to  the 
new  special  laboratories  above  Zurich,  where  they 
could  be  unpacked  in  an  atmosphere  of  chlorine, 
he  turned  to  these  five  still  shapes. 

208 


THE  ENDING  OF  WAR 

Their  five  pairs  of  feet  stuck  out  with  a  curious 
stiff  unanimity.   .  .  . 

"  What  else  was  there  to  do?  "  he  said  in  an- 
swer to  some  internal  protest. 

"  I  wonder,  Firmin,  if  there  are  any  more  of 
them?" 

"  Bombs,  sir?  "  asked  Firmin. 

"  No,  such  kings.  .  .  ." 

"The  pitiful  folly  of  it!"  said  the  ex-king, 
following  his  thought.  "  Firmin,  as  an  ex-pro- 
fessor of  International  Politics,  I  think  it  falls  to 
you  to  Bury  them.  There?  .  .  .  No,  don't  put 
them  near  the  well.  People  will  have  to  drink 
from  that  well.  Bury  them  over  there,  some  way 
off,  in  the  field." 


209 


CHAPTER  THE  FOURTH 

The  New  Phase 

§  I. 
The  task  that  lay  before  the  Assembly  of  Bris- 
sago,  viewed,  as  we  may  view  it  now,  from  the 
clarifying  standpoint  of  things  accomplished,  was 
in  its  broad  Issues  a  simple  one.  Essentially  it 
was  to  place  social  organisation  upon  the  new 
footing  that,  the  swift,  accelerated  advance  of  hu- 
man knowledge  had  rendered  necessary.  The 
council  was  gathered  together  with  the  haste  of  a 
salvage  expedition,  and  it  was  confronted  with 
wreckage;  but  the  wreckage  was  irreparable 
wreckage,  and  the  only  possibilities  of  the  case 
were  either  the  relapse  of  mankind  to  the  agricul- 
tural barbarism  from  which  it  had  emerged  so 
painfully  or  the  acceptance  of  achieved  science 
as  the  basis  of  a  new  social  order.  The  old 
tendencies  of  human  nature,  suspicion,  jealousy, 
particularism  and  belligerency,  were  incompatible 
with  the  monstrous  destructive  power  of  the  new 
appliances  the  inhuman  logic  of  science  had  pro- 
duced.    The  equilibrium  could  be  restored  only 

2IO 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

by  civilisation  destroying  itself  down  to  a  level 
at  which  modern  apparatus  could  no  longer  be 
produced,  or  by  human  nature  adapting  itself  and 
its  institutions  to  the  new  conditions.  It  was  for 
the  latter  alternative  that  the  assembly  existed. 

Sooner  or  later  this  choice  would  have  con- 
fronted mankind.  The  sudden  development  of 
atomic  science  did  but  precipitate  and  render  rapid 
and  dramatic  a  clash  between  the  new  and  the 
customary  that  had  been  gathering  since  the 
first  flint  was  chipped  or  the  first  fire  built  together. 
From  the  day  when  man  contrived  himself  a  tool 
and  suffered  another  male  to  draw  near  him,  he 
ceased  to  be  altogether  a  thing  of  instinct  and  un- 
troubled convictions.  From  that  day  forth  a 
widening  breach  can  be  traced  between  his  ego- 
tistical passions  and  the  social  need.  Slowly  he 
adapted  himself  to  the  life  of  the  homestead,  and 
his  passionate  impulses  widened  out  to  the  de- 
mands of  the  clan  and  the  tribe.  But  widen 
though  his  impulses  might,  the  latent  hunter  and 
wanderer  and  wonderer  in  his  imagination  out- 
stripped their  development.  He  was  never  quite 
subdued  to  the  soil,  nor  quite  tamed  to  the  home. 
Everywhere  it  needed  teaching  and  the  priest  to 
keep  him  within  the  bounds  of  the  plough-life  and 
the  beast-tending.  Slowly  a  vast  system  of  tradi- 
tional imperatives  superposed  itself  upon  his  in- 

21  I 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

stlncts,  imperatives  that  were  admirably  fitted  to 
make  him  that  cultivator,  that  cattle-minder,  who 
was  for  twice  ten  thousand  years  the  normal  man. 

And,  unpremeditated,  undesired,  out  of  the  ac- 
cumulations of  his  tilling  came  civilisation.  Civ- 
ilisation was  the  agricultural  surplus.  It  appeared 
as  trade  and  tracks  and  roads,  it  pushed  boats 
out  upon  the  rivers  and  presently  invaded  the  seas, 
and  within  its  primitive  courts,  within  temples 
grown  rich  and  leisurely  and  amidst  the  gathering 
medley  of  the  seaport  towns  rose  speculation  and 
philosophy  and  science  and  the  beginning  of  the 
new  order  that  has  at  last  established  itself  as 
human  life.  Slowly  at  first  as  we  traced  it,  and 
then  with  an  accumulating  velocity,  the  new 
powers  were  fabricated.  Man  as  a  whole  did 
not  seek  them  nor  desire  them;  they  were  thrust 
into  his  hand.  For  a  time  men  took  up  and  used 
these  new  things  and  the  new  powers  Inadvertently 
as  they  came  to  him,  recking  nothing  of  the  con- 
sequences. For  endless  generations  change  led 
him  very  gently.  But  when  he  had  been  led  far 
enough  change  quickened  the  pace.  It  was  with 
a  series  of  shocks  that  he  realised  at  last  that  he 
was  living  the  old  life  less  and  less  and  a  new 
life  more  and  more. 

Already  before  the  release  of  atomic  energy 
the  tensions  between  the  old  way  of  living  and  the 

212 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

new  were  intense.  They  were  far  intenser  than 
they  had  been  even  at  the  collapse  of  the  Roman 
imperial  system.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  an- 
cient life  of  the  family  and  the  small  community 
and  the  petty  industry,  on  the  other  was  a  new 
life  on  a  larger  scale  with  remoter  horizons  and  a 
strange  sense  of  purpose.  Already  it  was  grow- 
ing clear  that  men  must  live  on  one  side  or  the 
other.  One  could  not  have  little  trades-people 
and  syndicated  businesses  in  the  same  market, 
sleeping  carters  and  motor  trolleys  on  the  same 
road,  bows  and  arrows  and  aeroplane  sharpshoot- 
ers in  the  same  army,  or  illiterate  peasant  Indus- 
tries and  power-driven  factories  In  the  same  world. 
And  still  less  was  it  possible  that  one  could  have 
the  ideas  and  ambitions  and  greed  and  jealousy  of 
peasants  equipped  with  the  vast  appliances  of  the 
new  age.  If  there  had  been  no  atomic  bombs  to 
bring  together  most  of  the  directing  intelligence 
of  the  world  to  that  hasty  conference  at  Brissago, 
there  would  still  have  been,  extended  over  great 
areas  and  a  considerable  space  of  time  perhaps,  a 
less  formal  conference  of  responsible  and  under- 
standing people  upon  the  perplexities  of  this  world- 
wide opposition.  If  the  work  of  Holsten  had  been 
spread  over  centuries  and  Imparted  to  the  world 
by  imperceptible  degrees,  It  would  nevertheless 
have  made  It  necessary  for  men  to  take  counsel 

213 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

upon  and  set  a  plan  for  the  future.  Indeed,  al- 
ready there  had  been  accumulating  for  a  hundred 
years  before  the  crisis  a  literature  of  foresight; 
there  was  a  whole  mass  of  "  Modern  State " 
scheming  available  for  the  conference  to  go  upon. 
These  bombs  did  but  accentuate  and  dramatise  an 
already  developing  problem. 

§    2. 

This  assembly  was  no  leap  of  exceptional  minds 
and  super-Intelligences  Into  the  control  of  affairs. 
It  was  teachable,  its  members  trailed  ideas  with 
them  to  the  gathering,  but  these  were  the  con- 
sequences of  the  "  moral  shock  "  the  bombs  had 
given  humanity,  and  there  Is  no  reason  for  sup- 
posing its  individual  personalities  were  greatly 
above  the  average.  It  would  be  possible  to  cite 
a  thousand  instances  of  error  and  inefficiency  in 
its  proceedings  due  to  the  forgetfulness,  irrita- 
bility or  fatigue  of  its  members.  It  experimented 
considerably  and  blundered  often.  Excepting 
Holsten,  whose  gift  was  highly  specialised,  it  is 
questionable  whether  there  was  a  single  man  of 

,  the  first  order  of  human  quality  In  the  gathering. 

[But  it  had  a  modest  fear  of  itself  and  a  consequent 
directness  that  gave  it  a  general  distinction. 
There  was,  of  course,  a  noble  simplicity  about 
Leblanc,  but  even  of  him  it  may  be  asked  whether 

214 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

he  was  not  rather  good  and  honest-minded  than 
in  the  fuller  sense  great. 

The  ex-king  had  wisdom  and  a  certain  romantic 
dash,  he  was  a  man  among  thousands,  even  if  he 
was  not  a  man  among  millions,  but  his  memoirs 
and,  indeed,  his  decision  to  write  memoirs,  give 
the  quality  of  himself  and  his  associates.  The 
book  makes  admirable  but  astonishing  reading. 
Therein  he  takes  the  great  work  the  council  was 
doing  for  granted,  as  a  little  child  takes  God. 
It  is  as  if  he  had  no  sense  of  it  at  all.  He  tells 
amusing  trivialities  about  his  cousin  Wilhelm  and 
his  secretary,  Firmin,  he  pokes  fun  at  the  Ameri- 
can president,  who  was  indeed  rather  a  little  ac- 
cident of  the  political  machine  than  a  representa- 
tive American,  and  he  gives  a  long  description  of 
how  he  was  lost  for  three  days  in  the  mountains 
in  the  company  of  the  only  Japanese  member,  a 
loss  that  seems  to  have  caused  no  serious  interrup- 
tion of  the  work  of  the  council.  .  .   . 

The  Brissago  conference  has  been  written  about 
time  after  time  as  though  it  were  a  gathering  of 
the  very  flower  of  humanity.  Perched  up  there 
by  the  freak  or  wisdom  of  Leblanc,  it  had  a  cer- 
tain Olympian  quality,  and  the  natural  tendency 
of  the  human  mind  to  elaborate  such  a  resemblance 
would  have  us  give  its  members  the  likenesses  of 
Gods.     It  would  be  equally  reasonable  to  compare 

215 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

it  to  one  of  those  enforced  meetings  upon  the 
mountain  tops  that  must  have  occurred  in  the 
opening  phases  of  the  Deluge.  The  strength  of 
the  council  lay  not  in  itself,  but  in  the  circumstances 
that  had  quickened  its  intelligence,  dispelled  its 
vanities,  and  emancipated  it  from  traditional  am- 
bitions and  antagonisms.  It  was  stripped  of  the 
accumulations  of  centuries,  a  naked  government 
with  all  that  freedom  of  action  that  nakedness 
affords.  And  its  problems  were  set  before  it 
with  a  plainness  that  was  out  of  all  comparison 
with  the  complicated  and  perplexing  intimations 
of  the  former  time. 

The  world  on  which  the  council  looked  did 
indeed  present  a  task  quite  sufficiently  immense 
and  altogether  too  urgent  for  any  wanton  indul- 
gence in  internal  dissension.  It  may  be  interest- 
ing to  sketch  in  a  few  phrases  the  condition  of 
mankind  at  the  close  of  the  period  of  warring 
States,  in  the  year  of  crisis  that  followed  the  re- 
lease of  atomic  power.  It  was  a  world  extraor- 
dinarily limited  when  one  measures  it  by  later 
standards,  and  it  was  now  in  a  state  of  the  direst 
confusion  and  distress. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  at  this  time  men 
had  still  to  spread  into  enormous  areas  of  the 
land  surface  of  the  globe.  There  were  vast  moun- 
tain wildernesses,  sandy  deserts,  and  frozen  lands. 

216 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

Men  still  clung  closely  to  water  and  arable  soil 
in  temperate  or  subtropical  climates,  they  lived 
abundantly  only  in  river  valleys,  and  all  their  great 
cities  had  grown  upon  large  navigable  rivers  or 
close  to  ports  upon  the  sea.  Over  great  areas 
even  of  this  suitable  land  flies  and  mosquitoes, 
armed  with  infection,  had  so  far  defeated  human 
invasion,  and  under  their  protection  the  virgin 
forests  remained  untouched.  Indeed,  the  whole 
world,  even  in  its  most  crowded  districts,  was 
filthy  with  flies  and  swarming  with  needless  insect 
life  to  an  extent  which  is  now  almost  incredible. 
A  population  map  of  the  world  in  1950  would 
have  followed  sea  shore  and  river  course  so  closely 
in  its  darker  shading  as  to  give  an  impression  that 
homo  sapiens  was  an  amphibious  animal.  His 
roads  and  railways  lay  also  along  the  lower  con- 
tours, only  here  and  there  to  pierce  some  moun- 
tain barrier  or  reach  some  holiday  resort  did  they 
clamber  above  3,000  feet.  And  across  the  ocean 
his  traffic  passed  in  definite  lines;  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  square  miles  of  ocean  no 
ship  ever  traversed  except  by  mischance. 

Into  the  mysteries  of  the  solid  globe  under  his 
feet  he  had  not  yet  pierced  for  five  miles,  and  it 
was  still  not  forty  years  since,  with  a  tragic  per- 
tinacity, he  had  clambered  to  the  poles  of  the 
earth.     The  limitless  mineral  wealth  of  the  Arctic 

217 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  Antarctic  circles  was  still  buried  beneath  vast 
accumulations  of  immemorial  ice,  and  the  secret 
riches  of  the  inner  zones  of  the  crust  were  un- 
tapped and,  indeed,  unsuspected.  The  higher 
mountain  regions  were  known  only  to  a  sprinlcling 
of  guide-led  climbers  and  the  frequenters  of  a 
few  gaunt  hotels,  and  the  vast  rainless  belts  of 
land  that  lay  across  the  continental  masses,  from 
Gobi'  to  Sahara  and  along  the  backbone  of  Amer- 
ica, with  their  perfect  air,  their  daily  baths  of 
blazing  sunshine,  their  nights  of  cool  serenity  and 
glowing  stars,  and  their  reservoirs  of  deep-lying 
water,  were  as  yet  only  desolations  of  fear  and 
death  to  the  common  imagination. 

And  now,  under  the  shock  of  the  atomic  bombs, 
the  great  masses  of  population  which  had  gathered 
into  the  enormous,  dingy  town  centres  of  that  pe- 
riod were  dispossessed  and  scattered  disastrously 
over  the  surrounding  rural  areas.  It  was  as  if 
some  brutal  force,  grown  impatient  at  last  at  man's 
blindness,  had  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  a 
rearrangement  of  population  upon  more  whole- 
some lines,  shaken  the  world.  The  great  indus- 
trial regions  and  the  large  cities  that  had  escaped 
the  bombs  were,  because  of  their  complete  eco- 
nomic collapse,  in  almost  as  tragic  a  plight  as 
those  that  blazed,  and  the  countryside  was  disor- 
dered by  a  multitude  of  wandering  and  lawless 

218 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

strangers.  In  some  parts  of  the  world  famine 
raged,  and  in  many  regions  there  was  plague. 
.  ,  .  The  plains  of  north  India,  which  had 
become  more  and  more  dependent  for  the  general 
welfare  on  the  railways  and  that  great  system 
of  irrigation  canals  which  the  malignant  section 
of  the  patriots  had  destroyed,  were  in  a  state  of 
peculiar  distress;  whole  villages  lay  dead  together, 
no  man  heeding,  and  the  very  tigers  and  panthers 
that  preyed  upon  the  emaciated  survivors  crawled 
back  infected  into  the  jungle  to  perish.  Large 
areas  of  China  were  a  prey  to  brigand  bands.   .  .   . 

It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that  no  complete  con- 
temporary account  of  the  explosion  of  the  atomic 
bombs  survives.  There  are,  of  course,  innumer- 
able allusions  and  partial  records,  and  it  is  from 
these  that  subsequent  ages  must  piece  together  the 
image  of  these  devastations. 

The  phenomena,  it  must  be  remembered, 
changed  greatly  from  day  to  day,  and  even  from 
hour  to  hour,  as  the  exploding  bomb  shifted  its 
position,  threw  off  fragments  or  came  into  contact 
with  water  or  a  fresh  texture  of  soil.  Barnet, 
who  came  within  forty  miles  of  Paris  early  in 
October,  is  concerned  chiefly  with  his  account  of 
the  social  confusion  of  the  countryside  and  the 
problems  of  his  command,  but  he  speaks  of  heaped 
cloud  masses  of  steam  "  all  along  the  sky  to  the 

219 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

south-west  "  and  of  a  red  glare  beneath  these  at 
night.  Parts  of  Paris  were  still  burning,  and 
numbers  of  people  were  camped  in  the  fields  even 
at  this  distance  watching  over  treasured  heaps 
of  salvaged  loot.  He  speaks,  too,  of  the  distant 
rumbling  of  the  explosion — "like  trains  going 
over  iron  bridges." 

Other  descriptions  agree  with  this;  they  all 
speak  of  the  "  continuous  reverberations  "  or  of 
the  "  thudding  and  hammering,"  or  some  such 
phrase;  and  they  all  testify  to  a  huge  pall  of 
steam,  from  which  rain  would  fall  suddenly  in 
torrents  and  amidst  which  lightning  played. 
Drawing  nearer  to  Paris,  an  observer  would  have 
found  the  salvage  camps  increasing  in  number  and 
blocking  up  the  villages,  and  large  numbers  of 
people,  often  starving  and  ailing,  camping  under 
improvised  tents  because  there  was  no  place  for 
them  to  go.  The  sky  became  more  and  more 
densely  overcast  until  at  last  it  blotted  out  the 
light  of  day  and  left  nothing  but  a  dull  red  glare 
"  extraordinarily  depressing  to  the  spirit."  In 
this  dull  glare,  great  numbers  of  people  were  still 
living,  clinging  to  their  houses  and  in  many  cases 
subsisting  in  a  state  of  partial  famine  upon  the 
produce  in  their  gardens  and  the  stores  in  the 
shops  of  the  provision  dealers. 

Coming  In  still  closer,  the  investigator  would 
220 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

have  reached  the  police  cordon,  which  was  trying 
to  check  the  desperate  enterprise  of  those  who 
would  return  to  their  homes  or  rescue  their  more 
valuable  possessions  within  the  "  zone  of  immi- 
nent danger." 

That  zone  was  rather  arbitrarily  defined.  If 
our  spectator  could  have  got  permission  to  enter 
it,  he  would  have  entered  also  a  zone  of  uproar, 
a  zone  of  perpetual  thunderings,  lit  by  a  strange 
purplish-red  light,  and  quivering  and  swaying  with 
the  incessant  explosion  of  the  radio-active  sub- 
stance. Whole  blocks  of  buildings  were  alight 
and  burning  fiercely,  the  trembhng,  ragged  flames 
looking  pale  and  ghastly  and  attenuated  in  com- 
parison with  the  full-bodied  crimson  glare  beyond. 
The  shells  of  other  edifices  already  burnt  rose 
pierced  by  rows  of  window  sockets  against  the  red- 
lit  mist. 

Every  step  further  would  have  been  as  danger- 
ous as  a  descent  within  the  crater  of  an  active 
volcano.  These  spinning,  boiling  bomb  centres 
would  shift  and  break  unexpectedly  into  new  re- 
gions, great  fragments  of  earth  or  drain  or  ma- 
sonry suddenly  caught  by  a  jet  of  disruptive  force 
might  come  flying  by  the  explorer's  head,  or  the 
ground  yawn,  a  fiery  grave  beneath  his  feet.  Few 
who  ventured  into  these  areas  of  destruction  and 
survived  attempted  any  repetition  of  their  cxpe- 

221 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

riences.  There  are  stories  of  puffs  of  luminous, 
radio-active  vapour  drifting  sometimes  scores  of 
miles  from  the  bomb  centre  and  killing  and  scorch- 
ing all  they  overtook.  And  the  first  conflagrations 
from  the  Paris  centre  spread  westward  half  way 
to  the  sea. 

Moreover,  the  air  in  this  Infernal  Inner  circle 
of  red-lit  ruins  had  a  peculiar  dryness  and  a  blis- 
tering quality,  so  that  It  set  up  a  soreness  of  the 
skin  and  lungs  that  was  very  difficult  to  heal. 

Such  was  the  last  state  of  Paris,  and  such  on  a 
larger  scale  was  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Chicago, 
and  the  same  fate  had  overtaken  Berlin,  Moscow, 
Toklo,  the  eastern  half  of  London,  Toulon,  Kiel, 
and  two  hundred  and  eighteen  other  centres  of 
population  or  armament.  Each  was  a  flaming 
centre  of  radiant  destruction  that  only  time  could 
quench,  that  Indeed  In  many  Instances  time  has 
still  to  quench.  To  this  day,  though  Indeed  with 
a  constantly  diminishing  uproar  and  vigour,  these 
explosions  continue.  In  the  map  of  nearly  every 
country  of  the  world  three  or  four  more  red  circles, 
a  score  of  miles  In  diameter,  mark  the  position 
of  the  dying  atomic  bombs  and  the  death  areas 
that  men  have  been  forced  to  abandon  around 
them.  Within  these  areas  perished  museums, 
cathedrals,  palaces,  libraries,  galleries  of  master- 
pieces, and  a  vast  accumulation  of  human  achleve- 

222 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

ment,  whose  charred  remains  He  buried,  a  legacy 
of  curious  material  that  only  future  generations 
may  hope  to  examine.   .   .  . 

§   3. 

The  state  of  mind  of  the  dispossessed  urban 
population  which  swarmed  and  perished  so  abun- 
dantly over  the  countryside  during  the  dark  days 
of  the  autumnal  months  that  followed  the  Last 
War,  was  one  of  blank  despair.  Barnet  gives 
sketch  after  sketch  of  groups  of  these  people, 
camped  among  the  vineyards  of  Champagne,  as 
he  saw  them  during  his  period  of  service  with  the 
army  of  pacification. 

There  was,  for  example,  that  "  man-milliner  " 
who  came  out  from  a  field  beside  the  road  that 
rises  up  eastward  out  of  Epernay,  and  asked  how 
things  were  going  in  Paris.  He  was,  says  Bar- 
net,  a  round-faced  man  dressed  very  neatly  in 
black  —  so  neatly  that  it  was  amazing  to  discover 
he  was  living  close  at  hand  In  a  tent  made  of 
carpets  —  and  he  had  "  an  urbane  but  insistent 
manner,"  a  carefully  trimmed  moustache  and 
beard,  expressive  eyebrows,  and  hair  very  neatly 
brushed. 

"  No  one  goes  Into  Paris,"  said  Barnet. 

"  But,  Monsieur,  that  is  very  unenterprising," 
the  man  by  the  wayside  submitted. 

223 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  The  danger  is  too  great.  The  radiations  cat 
into  people's  skins." 

The  eyebrows  protested.  "  But  is  nothing  to 
be  done?  " 

"  Nothing  can  be  done." 

"  But,  Monsieur,  it  is  extraordinarily  inconve- 
nient, this  living  in  exile  and  waiting.  My  wife 
and  my  little  boy  suffer  extremely.  There  is  a 
lack,  of  amenity.  And  the  season  advances.  I 
say  nothing  of  the  expense  and  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining provisions.  .  .  .  When  does  Monsieur 
think  that  something  will  be  done  to  render  Paris 
—  possible?  " 

Barnet  considered  his  interlocutor. 

"  I'm  told,"  said  Barnet,  "  that  Paris  is  not 
likely  to  be  possible  again  for  several  genera- 
tions." 

*'0h!  but  this  is  preposterous!  Consider, 
Monsieur!  What  are  people  like  ourselves  to 
do  in  the  meanwhile?  I  am  a  costumier.  All 
my  connections  and  interests,  above  all  my  style, 
demand  Paris.   .  .   ." 

Barnet  considered  the  sky,  from  which  a  light 
rain  was  beginning  to  fall,  the  wide  fields  about 
them  from  which  the  harvest  had  been  taken,  the 
trimmed  poplars  by  the  wayside. 

"  Naturally,"  he  agreed,  "  you  want  to  go  to 
Paris.      But  Paris  is  over." 

224 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

"Over!" 

"  Finished." 

"  But  then,  Monsieur  —  what  is  to  become  — 
oi  me?" 

Barnet  turned  his  face  westward,  whither  the 
white  road  led. 

"  Where  else,  for  example,  may  I  hope  to  find 
—  opportunity?  " 

Barnet  made  no  reply. 

"  Perhaps  on  the  Riviera.  Or  at  some  such 
place  as  Homburg.     Or  some  place  perhaps." 

"All  that,"  said  Barnet,  accepting  for  the  first 
time  facts  that  had  lain  evident  in  his  mind  for 
weeks;  "  all  that  must  be  over  too." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  the  voice  beside  him 
broke  out:  "But,  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible  I 
It  leaves  —  nothing." 

"  No.     Not  very  much." 

"  One  cannot  suddenly  begin  to  grow  pota- 
toes!  " 

"  It  would  be  good  if  Monsieur  could  bring 
himself—" 

"  To  the  life  of  a  peasant !     And  my  wife 

You  do  not  know  the  distinguished  delicacy  of  my 
wife,  a  refined  helplessness,  a  peculiar  dependent 
charm.  Like  some  slender  tropical  creeper  — 
with  great  white  flowers.  .  .  .  But  all  this  is 
foolish  talk.      It  is  impossible  that  Paris,  which 

225 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

has    survived   so   many   misfortunes,   should   not 
presently  revive." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  will  ever  revive.  Paris  is 
finished.  London,  too,  I  am  told  —  Berlin.  All 
the  great  capitals  were  stricken.   .   .   ." 

"  But  —  !  Monsieur  must  permit  me  to  dif- 
fer." 

"  It  is  so." 

"  It  is  impossible.  Civilisations  do  not  end  in 
this  manner.     Mankind  will  insist." 

"On  Paris?" 

"  On  Paris." 

"  Monsieur,  you  might  as  well  hope  to  go  down 
the  Maelstrom  and  resume  business  there." 

"  I  am  content,  Monsieur,  with  my  own  faith." 

"  The  winter  comes  on.  Would  not  Monsieur 
be  wiser  to  seek  a  house?  " 

"Further  from  Paris?  No,  Monsieur.  But 
it  is  not  possible.  Monsieur,  what  you  say,  and 
you  are  under  a  tremendous  mistake.  ...  In- 
deed, you  are  in  error.  ...  I  asked  merely  for 
information.   .   .   ." 

"  When  last  I  saw  him,"  said  Barnet,  "  he  was 
standing  under  the  signpost  at  the  crest  of  the 
hill,  gazing  wistfully,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  a  little 
doubtfully  now,  towards  Paris,  and  altogether 
heedless  of  a  drizzling  rain  that  was  wetting  him 
through  and  through.  ..." 

226 


THE  NEW  PHASE 


This  effect  of  chill  dismay,  of  a  doom  as  yet 
imperfectly  apprehended,  deepens  as  Barnet's  rec- 
ord passes  on  to  tell  of  the  approach  of  winter. 
It  was  too  much  for  the  great  mass  of  those  un- 
willing and  incompetent  nomads  to  realise  that  an 
age  had  ended,  that  the  old  help  and  guidance 
existed  no  longer,  that  times  would  not  mend 
again,  however  patiently  they  held  out.  They 
were  still  in  many  cases  looking  to  Paris  when  the 
first  snowflakes  of  that  pitiless  January  came  swirl- 
ing about  them.     The  story  grows  grimmer.  .  .  . 

If  it  is  less  monstrously  tragic  after  Barnet's 
return  to  England  it  is,  if  anything,  harder.  Eng- 
land was  a  spectacle  of  fear-embittered  house- 
holders, hiding  food,  crushing  out  robbery,  driv- 
ing the  starving  wanderers  from  every  faltering 
place  upon  the  roads,  lest  they  should  die  incon- 
veniently and  reproachfully  on  the  doorsteps  of 
those  who  had  failed  to  urge  them  onward.   .  .   . 

The  remnants  of  the  British  troops  left  France 
finally  in  March,  after  urgent  representations 
from  the  provisional  government  at  Orleans  that 
they  could  be  supported  no  longer.  They  seem 
to  have  been  a  fairly  well-behaved,  but  highly 
parasitic  force  throughout,  though  Barnet  is 
clearly  of  opinion  that  they  did  much  to  suppress 

227 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

sporadic  brigandage  and  maintain  social  order. 
He  came  home  to  a  famine-stricken  country,  and 
his  picture  of  the  England  of  that  spring  is  one 
of  miserable  patience  and  desperate  expedients. 
The  country  was  suffering  much  more  than  France 
because  of  the  cessation  of  the  oversea  supplies 
on  which  it  had  hitherto  relied.  His  troops  were 
given  bread,  dried  fish,  and  boiled  nettles  at  Do- 
ver, and  marched  inland  to  Ashford  and  paid  off. 
On  the  way  thither  they  saw  four  men  hanging 
from  the  telegraph  posts  by  the  roadside,  who  had 
been  hung  for  stealing  swedes.  The  labour  ref- 
uges of  Kent,  he  discovered,  were  feeding  their 
crowds  of  casual  wanderers  on  bread  into  which 
clay  and  sawdust  had  been  mixed.  In  Surrey  there 
was  a  shortage  of  even  such  fare  as  that.  He 
himself  struck  across  country  to  Winchester,  fear- 
ing to  approach  the  bomb-poisoned  district  around 
London,  and  at  Winchester  he  had  the  luck  to  be 
taken  on  as  one  of  the  wireless  assistants  at  the 
central  station  and  given  regular  rations.  The 
station  stood  in  a  commanding  position  on  the 
chalk  hill  that  overlooks  the  town  from  the 
east.  .  .  . 

Thence  he  must  have  assisted  in  the  transmis- 
sion of  the  endless  cypher  messages  that  preceded 
the  gathering  at  Brissago,  and  there  it  was  that 
the  Brissago  proclamation  of  the  end  of  the  war 

228 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

and  the  establishment  of  a  world  government  came 
under  his  hands. 

He  was  feeling  ill  and  apathetic  that  day,  and 
he  did  not  realise  what  it  was  he  was  transcribing. 
He  did  it  mechanically  as  a  part  of  his  tedious 
duty. 

Afterwards  there  came  a  rush  of  messages  aris- 
ing out  of  the  declaration  that  strained  him  very 
much,  and  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  relieved, 
he  ate  his  scanty  supper  and  then  went  out  upon 
the  little  balcony  before  the  station  to  smoke  and 
rest  his  brains  after  his  sudden  and  as  yet  inex- 
plicable press  of  duty.  It  was  a  very  beautiful 
still  evening.  He  fell  tallcing  to  a  fellow  opera- 
tor, and  for  the  first  time,  he  declares,  "  I  began 
to  understand  what  it  was  all  about.  I  began  to 
see  just  what  enormous  issues  had  been  under  my 
hands  for  the  past  four  hours.  But  I  became  in- 
credulous after  my  first  stimulation.  '  This  is 
some  sort  of  Bunkum,'  I  said  very  sagely. 

"  My  colleague  was  more  hopeful.  '  It  means 
an  end  to  bomb-throwing  and  destruction,'  he  said. 
'  It  means  that  presently  corn  will  come  from 
America.' 

"  '  Who  is  going  to  send  corn  when  there  is 
no  more  value  in  money?  '  I  asked. 

"  Suddenly  we  were  startled  by  a  clashing  from 
the  town  below.     The  cathedral  bells,  which  had 

229 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

been  silent  ever  since  I  had  come  into  the  district, 
were  beginning,  with  a  sort  of  rheumatic  diffi- 
culty, to  ring.  Presently  they  warmed  a  little  to 
the  work  and  we  realised  what  was  going  on. 
They  were  ringing  a  peal.  We  listened  with  an 
unbelieving  astonishment  and  looking  into  each 
other's  yellow  faces. 

"  '  They  mean  it,'  said  my  colleague. 

"'But  what  can  they  do  now?'  I  asked. 
'  Everything  is  broken  down.   .   .   .'  " 

And  on  that  sentence,  with  an  unexpected  artis- 
try, Barnet  abruptly  ends  his  story. 

§   5. 

From  the  first  the  new  government  handled  af- 
fairs with  a  certain  greatness  of  spirit.  Indeed, 
it  was  inevitable  that  they  should  act  greatly. 
From  the  first  they  had  to  see  the  round  globe  as 
one  problem;  it  was  impossible  any  longer  to 
deal  with  it  piece  by  piece.  They  had  to  secure 
it  universally  from  any  fresh  outbreak  of  atomic 
destruction,  and  they  had  to  ensure  a  permanent 
and  universal  pacification.  On  this  capacity  to 
grasp  and  wield  the  whole  round  globe  their  ex- 
istence depended.  There  was  no  scope  for  any 
inferior  performance. 

So  soon  as  the  seizure  of  the  existing  sup- 
plies of  atomic  ammunition  and  the  apparatus  for 

230 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

syntheslsing  Carolinum  was  assured,  the  disband- 
ing of  social  utilisation  of  the  various  masses  of 
troops  still  under  arms  had  to  be  arranged,  the 
salvation  of  the  year's  harvests  and  the  feeding, 
housing  and  employment  of  the  drifting  millions 
of  homeless  people.  In  Canada,  in  South  Amer- 
ica and  Asiatic  Russia  there  were  vast  accumula- 
tions of  provision  that  was  Immovable  only  be- 
cause of  the  breakdown  of  the  monetary  and 
credit  systems.  These  had  to  be  brought  into  the 
famine  districts  very  speedily  if  entire  depopula- 
tion was  to  be  avoided,  and  their  transportation 
and  the  revival  of  communications  generally  ab- 
sorbed a  certain  proportion  of  the  soldiery  and 
more  able  unemployed.  The  task  of  housing  as- 
sumed gigantic  dimensions,  and  from  building 
camps  the  housing  committee  of  the  council  speed- 
ily passed  to  constructions  of  a  more  permanent 
type.  They  found  far  less  friction  than  might 
have  been  expected  in  turning  the  loose  population 
on  their  hands  to  these  things.  People  were  ex- 
traordinarily tamed  by  that  year  of  suffering  and 
death;  they  were  disillusioned  of  their  traditions, 
bereft  of  once  obstinate  prejudices;  they  felt  for- 
eign in  a  strange  world  and  ready  to  follow  any 
confident  leadership.  The  orders  of  the  new  gov- 
ernment come  with  the  best  of  all  credentials,  ra- 
tions.    The  people  everywhere  were  as  easy  to 

231 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

control,  one  of  the  old  labour  experts  who  had 
survived  until  the  new  time  witnesses,  "  as  gangs 
of  emigrant  workers  in  a  new  land." 

And  now  it  was  that  the  social  possibilities  of 
the  atomic  energy  began  to  appear.  The  new 
machinery  that  had  come  into  existence  before  the 
last  wars  increased  and  multiplied,  and  the  coun- 
cil found  itself  not  only  with  millions  of  hands  at 
its  disposal,  but  with  power  and  apparatus  that 
made  its  first  conceptions  of  the  work  it  had  to 
do  seem  pitifully  timid.  The  camps  that  were 
planned  in  iron  and  deal  were  built  in  stone  and 
brass;  the  roads  that  were  to  have  been  mere  iron 
tracks  became  spacious  ways  that  insisted  upon 
architecture;  the  cultivations  of  food-stuffs  that 
were  to  have  supplied  emergency  rations,  were 
presently,  with  synthesisers,  fertilisers,  actinic 
light  and  scientific  direction,  in  excess  of  every  hu- 
man need. 

The  government  had  begun  with  the  idea  of 
temporarily  reconstituting  the  social  and  eco- 
nomic system  that  had  prevailed  before  the  first 
coming  of  the  atomic  engine,  because  it  was  to 
this  system  that  the  ideas  and  habits  of  the  great 
mass  of  the  world's  dispossessed  population 
was  adapted.  Subsequent  rearrangement  it  had 
hoped  to  leave  to  its  successors  —  whoever  they 

232 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

might  be.  But  this,  it  became  more  and  more 
manifest,  was  absolutely  impossible.  As  well 
might  the  council  have  proposed  a  revival  of 
slavery.  The  capitalistic  system  had  already 
been  smashed  beyond  repair  by  the  onset  of  limit- 
less gold  and  energy;  it  fell  to  pieces  at  the  first 
endeavour  to  stand  it  up  again.  Already  before 
the  war  half  of  the  industrial  class  had  been  out 
of  work;  the  attempt  to  put  them  back  into  wages 
employment  on  the  old  lines  was  futile  from  the 
outset, —  the  absolute  shattering  of  the  currency 
system  alone  would  have  been  sufficient  to  prevent 
that, —  and  it  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  take 
over  the  housing,  feeding,  and  clothing  of  this 
world-wide  multitude  without  exacting  any  return 
in  labour  whatever.  In  a  little  while  the  mere 
absence  of  occupation  for  so  great  a  multitude  of 
people  everywhere  became  an  evident  social  dan- 
ger, and  the  government  was  obliged  to  resort  to 
such  devices  as  simple  decorative  work  in  wood 
and  stone,  the  manufacture  of  hand-woven  tex- 
tiles, fruit  growing,  flower  growing,  and  land- 
scape gardening  on  a  grand  scale  to  keep  the  less 
adaptable  out  of  mischief,  and  of  paying  wages 
to  the  younger  adults  for  attendance  at  schools 
that  would  equip  them  to  use  the  new  atomic 
machinery.   ...     So  quite  insensibly  the  council 

233 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

drifted  into  a  complete  reorganisation  of  urban 
and  industrial  life,  and  indeed  of  the  entire  social 
system. 

Ideas  that  are  unhampered  by  political  intrigue 
or  financial  considerations  have  a  sweeping  way 
with  them,  and  before  a  year  was  out  the  records 
of  the  council  show  clearly  that  it  was  rising  to  its 
enormous  opportunity,  and  partly  through  its  own 
direct  control  and  partly  through  a  series  of  spe- 
cific committees,  it  was  planning  a  new  common 
social  order  for  the  entire  population  of  the  earth. 
*'  There  can  be  no  real  social  stability  or  any  gen- 
eral human  happiness  while  large  areas  of  the 
world  and  large  classes  of  people  are  in  a  phase 
of  civilisation  different  from  the  prevailing  mass. 
It  is  impossible  now  to  have  great  blocks  of  pop- 
ulation misunderstanding  the  generally  accepted 
social  purpose  or  at  an  economic  disadvantage  to 
the  rest."  So  the  council  expressed  its  conception 
of  the  problem  it  had  to  solve.  The  peasant,  the 
field-worker,  and  all  barbaric  cultivators  were  at 
an  '*  economic  disadvantage  "  to  the  more  mobile 
and  educated  classes,  and  the  logic  of  the  situa- 
tion compelled  the  council  to  take  up  systematic- 
ally the  supersession  of  this  stratum  by  a  more 
efficient  organisation  of  production.  It  devel- 
oped a  scheme  for  the  progressive  establishment 
throughout  the  world  of  the  "  modern  system  " 

234 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

in  agriculture,  a  system  that  should  give  the  full 
advantages  of  a  civilised  life  to  every  agricultural 
worker,  and  this  replacement  has  been  going  on 
right  up  to  the  present  day.  The  central  idea  of 
the  modern  system  is  the  substitution  of  cultivat- 
ing guilds  for  the  Individual  cultivator  and 
for  cottage  and  village  life  altogether.  These 
guilds  are  associations  of  men  and  women  who 
take  over  areas  of  arable  or  pasture  land,  and 
make  themselves  responsible  for  a  certain  aver- 
age produce.  They  are  bodies  small  enough  as 
a  rule  to  be  run  on  a  strictly  democratic  basis  and 
large  enough  to  supply  all  the  labour,  except  for 
a  certain  assistance  from  townspeople  during  the 
harvest,  needed  upon  the  land  farmed.  They 
have  watchers'  bungalows  or  chalets  on  the 
ground  cultivated,  but  the  ease  and  costlessness  of 
modern  locomotion  enables  them  to  maintain  a 
group  of  residences  in  the  nearest  town  with  a 
common  dining-room  and  club-house,  and  usually 
also  a  guild  house  In  the  national  or  provincial 
capital.  Already  this  system  has  abolished  a 
distinctively  "  rustic  "  population  throughout  vast 
areas  of  the  old  world  where  It  has  prevailed  im- 
memorlally.  That  shy,  unstimulated  life  of  the 
lonely  hovel,  the  narrow  scandals  and  petty  spites 
and  persecutions  of  the  small  village,  that  hoard- 
ing, half  inanimate  existence  away  from  books. 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

thought  or  social  participation,  and  in  constant 
contact  with  cattle,  pigs,  poultry  and  their  excre- 
ment is  passing  away  out  of  human  experience. 
In  a  little  while  it  will  be  gone  altogether.  In  the 
nineteenth  century  it  had  already  ceased  to  be  a 
necessary  human  state,  and  only  the  absence  of 
any  collective  intelligence  and  an  imagined  need 
for  tough  and  unintelligent  soldiers  and  for  a  pro- 
lific class  at  a  low  level,  prevented  its  systematic 
replacement  at  that  time.  .  .  . 

And  while  this  settlement  of  the  country  was 
in  progress,  the  urban  camps  of  the  first  phase  of 
the  council's  activities  were  rapidly  developing, 
partly  through  the  inherent  forces  of  the  situation 
and  partly  through  the  council's  direction,  Into  a 
modern  type  of  town.   .   .  . 


It  Is  characteristic  of  the  manner  In  which  large 
enterprises  forced  themselves  upon  the  Brissago 
council,  that  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  the  first 
year  of  their  administration,  and  then  only  with 
extreme  reluctance,  that  they  would  take  up  the 
manifest  need  for  a  lingua  franca  for  the  world. 
They  seem  to  have  given  little  attention  to  the 
various  theoretical  universal  languages  which 
were  proposed  to  them.  They  wished  to  give  as 
little  trouble  to  hasty  and  simple  people  as  possi- 

236 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

ble,  and  the  world-wide  distribution  of  English 
gave  them  a  bias  for  it  from  the  beginning.  The 
extreme  simplicity  of  its  grammar  was  also  in  its 
favour. 

It  was  not  without  some  sacrifices  that  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking peoples  were  permitted  the  satisfac- 
tion of  hearing  their  speech  used  universally. 
The  language  was  shorn  of  a  number  of  gram- 
matical peculiarities,  the  distinctive  forms  for  the 
subjunctive  mood  for  example,  and  most  of  its 
irregular  plurals  were  abolished;  its  spelling  was 
systematlsed  and  adapted  to  the  vowel  sounds  in 
use  upon  the  Continent  of  Europe,  and  a  process 
of  incorporating  foreign  nouns  and  verbs  com- 
menced that  speedily  reached  enormous  propor- 
tions. Within  ten  years  from  the  establishment 
of  the  World  Republic  the  New  English  Dic- 
tionary had  swelled  to  include  a  vocabulary  of 
250,000  words,  and  a  man  of  1900  would  have 
found  considerable  difficulty  in  reading  an  ordi- 
nary newspaper.  On  the  other  hand,  the  men  of 
the  new  time  could  still  appreciate  the  older  Eng- 
lish literature.  .  .  .  Certain  minor  acts  of  uni- 
formity accompanied  this  larger  one.  The  idea 
of  a  common  understanding  and  a  general  simpli- 
fication of  intercourse  once  it  was  accepted  led 
very  naturally  to  the  universal  establishment  of 
the  metric  system  of  weights  and  measures,  and 

237 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

to  the  disappearance  of  the  various  makeshift 
calendars  that  had  hitherto  confused  chronology. 
The  year  was  divided  into  thirteen  months  of 
four  weeks  each,  and  New  Year's  Day  and  Leap 
Yearns  Day  were  made  holidays  and  did  not  count 
at  all  in  the  ordinary  week.  So  the  weeks  and  the 
months  were  b'rought  into  correspondence.  And, 
moreover,  as  the  king  put  it  to  Firmin,  it  was  de- 
cided to  "  nail  down  Easter.  .  .  ."  In  these 
matters,  as  in  so  many  matters,  the  new  civilisa- 
tion came  as  a  simplification  of  ancient  complica- 
tions; the  history  of  the  calendar  throughout  the 
world  is  a  history  of  inadequate  adjustments,  of 
attempts  to  fix  seedtime  and  midwinter  that  go 
back  into  the  very  beginning  of  human  society; 
and  this  final  rectification  had  a  symbolic  value 
quite  beyond  its  practical  convenience.  But  the 
council  would  have  no  rash  nor  harsh  innovations, 
no  strange  names  for  the  months  and  no  altera- 
tion in  the  numbering  of  the  years. 

The  world  had  already  been  put  upon  one  uni- 
versal monetary  basis.  For  some  months  after 
the  accession  of  the  council  the  world's  affairs 
had  been  carried  on  without  any  sound  currency 
at  all.  Over  great  regions  money  was  still  in  use, 
but  with  the  most  extravagant  variations  in  price 
and  the  most  disconcerting  fluctuations  of  public 
confidence.     The    ancient    rarity    of    gold    upon 

238 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

which  the  entire  system  rested  was  gone.  Gold 
was  now  a  waste  product  in  the  release  of  atomic 
energy,  and  it  was  plain  that  no  metal  could  be  the 
basis  of  the  monetary  system  again.  Henceforth 
all  coins  must  be  token  coins.  Yet  the  whole 
world  was  accustomed  to  metallic  money,  and  a 
vast  proportion  of  existing  human  relationships 
had  grown  up  upon  a  cash  basis  and  were  almost 
inconceivable  without  that  convenient  liquidating 
factor.  It  seemed  absolutely  necessary  to  the  life 
of  the  social  organisation  to  have  some  sort  of 
currency,  and  the  council  had  therefore  to  dis- 
cover some  real  value  upon  which  to  rest  it.  Va- 
rious such  apparently  stable  values  as  land  and 
hours  of  work  were  considered.  Ultimately  the 
government,  which  was  now  in  possession  of  most 
of  the  supplies  of  energy-releasing  material,  fixed 
a  certain  number  of  units  of  energy  as  the  value 
of  a  gold  sovereign,  declared  a  sovereign  to  be 
worth  exactly  twenty  marks,  twenty-five  francs, 
five  dollars,  and  so  forth  with  the  other  current 
units  of  the  world,  and  undertook,  under  various 
qualifications  and  conditions,  to  deliver  energy 
upon  demand  as  payment  for  every  sovereign 
presented.  On  the  whole  this  worked  satisfacto- 
rily. They  saved  the  face  of  the  pound  sterling. 
Coin  was  rehabilitated,  and  after  a  phase  of  price 
fluctuations  began  to  settle  down  to  definite  equlv- 

239 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

alents  and  uses  again,  with  names  and  everyday 
values  familiar  to  the  common  run  of  people.  .  .  . 

§  7- 
As  the  Brlssago  council  came  to  realise  that 
what  it  had  supposed  to  be  temporary  camps  of 
refugees  were  rapidly  developing  into  great 
towns  of  a  new  type  and  that  it  was  remoulding 
the  world  in  spite  of  itself,  it  decided  to  place  this 
work  of  redistributing  the  non-agricultural  popu- 
lation in  the  hands  of  a  compacter  and  better 
qualified  special  committee.  That  committee  is 
now,  far  more  than  the  council  or  any  other  of  its 
delegated  committees,  the  active  government  of 
the  world.  Developed  from  an  almost  invisible 
germ  of  "  town-planning  "  that  came  obscurely 
into  existence  In  Europe  or  America  (the  question 
is  still  in  dispute)  somewhere  in  the  closing  de- 
cades of  the  nineteenth  century,  its  work,  the  con- 
tinual active  planning  and  replanning  of  the 
world  as  a  place  of  human  habitation,  is  now,  so 
to  speak,  the  collective,  material  activity  of  the 
race.  The  spontaneous,  disorderly  spreadings 
and  recessions  of  populations,  as  aimless  and  me- 
chanical as  the  trickling  of  spilt  water,  which  was 
the  substance  of  history  for  endless  years,  giving 
rise  here  to  congestions,  here  to  chronic  devastat- 
ing wars,   and  everywhere  to  a  discomfort  and 

240 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

disorderliness  that  was  at  Its  best  only  picturesque, 
Is  at  an  end.  Men  spread  now,  with  the  whole 
power  of  the  race  to  aid  them.  Into  every  avail- 
able region  of  the  earth.  Their  cities  are  no 
longer  tethered  to  running  water  and  the  prox- 
imity of  cultivation,  their  plans  are  no  longer 
affected  by  strategic  considerations  or  thoughts 
of  social  insecurity.  The  aeroplane  and  the 
nearly  costless  mobile  car  have  abolished  trade 
routes,  a  common  language  and  a  universal  law 
have  abolished  a  thousand  restraining  Inconven- 
iences, and  so  an  astonishing  dispersal  of  habita- 
tions has  begun.  One  may  live  anywhere.  And 
so  it  Is  that  our  cities  now  are  true  social  gather- 
ings, each  with  a  character  of  its  own  and  dis- 
tinctive interests  of  its  own,  and  most  of  them 
with  a  common  occupation.  They  lie  out  in  the 
former  deserts,  those  long-wasted  sunbaths  of 
the  race,  they  tower  amidst  eternal  snows,  they 
hide  in  remote  islands  and  bask  on  broad  lagoons. 
For  a  time  the  whole  tendency  of  mankind  was  to 
desert  the  river  valleys  in  which  the  race  had  been 
cradled  for  half  a  million  years,  but  now  that  the 
War  against  Flies  has  been  waged  so  successfully 
that  this  pestilential  branch  of  life  is  nearly  ex- 
tinct, they  are  returning  thither  with  a  renewed 
appetite  for  gardens  laced  by  watercourses,  and 
for  pleasant  living  amidst  islands  and  houseboats 

241 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  bridges  and  nocturnal  lanterns  reflected  on 
the  sea. 

Man,  who  Is  ceasing  to  be  an  agricultural  ani- 
mal, becomes  more  and  more  a  builder,  a  travel- 
ler and  a  maker.  How  much  he  ceases  to  be  a 
cultivator  of  the  soil  the  returns  of  the  Redistri- 
bution Committee  showed.  Every  year  the  work, 
of  our  scientific  laboratories  increases  the  pro- 
ductivity and  simplifies  the  labour  of  those  who 
work  upon  the  soil,  and  the  food  now  of  the  whole 
world  is  produced  by  less  than  one  per  cent,  of  Its 
population,  a  percentage  which  still  tends  to  de- 
crease. Far  fewer  people  are  needed  upon  the 
land  than  training  and  proclivity  dispose  towards 
it,  and  as  a  consequence  of  this  excess  of  human 
attention,  the  garden  side  of  life,  the  creation  of 
groves  and  lawns  and  vast  regions  of  beautiful 
flowers,  has  expanded  enormously  and  continues 
to  expand.  For  as  agricultural  method  intensi- 
fies and  the  quota  is  raised,  one  farm  association 
after  another,  availing  Itself  of  the  1975  Regu- 
lations, elects  to  produce  a  public  garden  and 
pleasance  in  the  place  of  its  former  fields,  and  the 
area  of  freedom  and  beauty  Is  Increased.  And 
the  chemists'  triumphs  of  synthesis  which  could 
now  give  us  an  entirely  artificial  food  remain 
largely  in  abeyance  because  It  is  so  much  more 
pleasant  and  interesting  to  eat  natural  produce 

242 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

and  to  grow  such  things  upon  the  soil.  Each 
year  adds  to  the  variety  of  our  fruits  and  the  de- 
lightfulness  of  our  flowers. 

§   8. 

The  early  years  of  the  World  Republic  wit- 
nessed a  certain  recrudescence  of  political  ad- 
venture. There  was,  it  is  rather  curious  to  note,  "N 
no  revival  of  separatism  after  the  face  of  King  >/ 
Ferdinand  Charles  had  vanished  from  the  sight 
of  men,  but  In  a  number  of  countries,  as  the  first 
urgent  physical  needs  were  met,  there  appeared 
a  variety  of  personalities  having  this  in  common 
that  they  sought  to  revive  political  trouble  and 
clamber  by  Its  aid  to  positions  of  importance  and 
satisfaction.  In  no  case  did  they  speak  in  the 
name  of  kings,  and  It  Is  clear  that  monarchy  must 
have  been  far  gone  in  obsolescence  before  the 
twentieth  century  began,  but  they  made  appeals 
to  the  large  survivals  of  nationalist  and  racial 
feeling  that  were  everywhere  to  be  found,  they 
alleged  with  considerable  justice  that  the  council 
was  over-riding  racial  and  national  customs  and 
disregarding  religious  rules.  The  great  plain  of 
India  was  particularly  prolific  In  such  agitators. 
The  revival  of  newspapers,  which  had  largely 
ceased  during  the  terrible  year  because  of  the  dis- 
location  of  the   coinage,   gave   a  vehicle   and   a 

243 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

method  of  organisation  to  these  complaints.  At 
first  the  council  disregarded  this  developing  oppo- 
sition, and  then  it  recognised  it  with  an  entirely 
devastating  frankness. 

Never,  of  course,  had  there  been  so  provisional 
a  government.  It  was  of  an  extravagant  ille- 
gality. It  was  indeed  hardly  more  than  a  club, 
a  club  of  about  a  hundred  persons.  At  the  out- 
set there  were  ninety-three,  and  these  were  in- 
creased afterwards,  by  the  issue  of  invitations 
which  more  than  balanced  its  deaths,  to  as  many 
at  one  time  as  one  hundred  and  nineteen.  Al- 
ways its  constitution  has  been  miscellaneous.  At 
no  time  were  these  invitations  issued  with  an  ad- 
mission that  they  recognised  a  right.  The  old 
institution  of  monarchy  had  come  out  unexpect- 
edly well  in  the  light  of  the  new  regime.  Nine 
of  the  original  members  of  the  first  government 
were  crowned  heads  who  had  resigned  their  sep- 
arate sovereignty,  and  at  no  time  afterwards  did 
the  number  of  its  royal  members  sink  below  six. 
In  their  case  there  was  perhaps  a  kind  of  attenu- 
ated claim  to  rule,  but  except  for  them  and  the 
still  more  infinitesimal  pretensions  of  one  or  two 
ex-presidents  of  republics,  no  member  of  the  coun- 
cil had  even  the  shade  of  a  right  to  his  participa- 
tion in  its  power.  It  was  natural,  therefore,  that 
its  opponents  should  find  a  common  ground  in  a 

244 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

clamour  for  representative  government,  and  build 
high  hopes  upon  a  return  to  parliamentary  insti- 
tutions. 

The  council  decided  to  give  them  everything 
they  wanted,  but  in  a  form  that  suited  ill  with 
their  aspirations.  It  became  at  one  stroke  a 
representative  body.  It  became.  Indeed,  mag- 
nificently representative.  It  became  so  repre- 
sentative that  the  politicians  were  drowned  in  a 
deluge  of  votes.  Every  adult  of  either  sex  from 
pole  to  pole  was  given  a  vote,  and  the  world  was 
divided  into  ten  constituencies,  which  voted  on 
the  same  day  by  means  of  a  simple  modification 
of  the  world  post.  Membership  of  the  govern- 
ment, it  was  decided,  must  be  for  life,  save  in  the 
exceptional  case  of  a  recall,  but  the  elections, 
which  were  held  quinquennially,  were  arranged  to 
add  fifty  members  on  each  occasion.  The 
method  of  proportional  representation  with  one 
transferable  vote  was  adopted,  and  the  voter 
might  also  write  upon  his  voting  paper  in  a  spe- 
cially marked  space  the  name  of  any  of  his  repre- 
sentatives that  he  wished  to  recall.  A  ruler  was 
recallable  by  as  many  votes  as  the  quota  by  which 
he  had  been  elected,  and  the  original  members 
by  as  many  votes  in  any  constituency  as  the  re- 
turning quotas  in  the  first  election. 

Upon  these  conditions  the  council  submitted 
245 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

itself  very  cheerfully  to  the  suffrages  of  the  world. 
None  of  Its  members  were  recalled,  and  its  fifty 
new  associates,  which  included  twenty-seven  which 
it  had  seen  fit  to  recommend,  were  of  an  alto- 
gether too  miscellaneous  quality  to  disturb  the 
broad  trend  of  its  policy.  Its  freedom  from 
rules  or  formalities  prevented  any  obstructive 
proceedings,  and  when  one  of  the  two  newly  ar- 
rived Home  Rule  members  for  India  sought  for 
information  how  to  bring  in  a  Bill,  they  learnt 
simply  that  Bills  were  not  brought  in.  They 
asked  for  the  Speaker,  and  were  privileged  to 
hear  much  ripe  wisdom  from  the  ex-king  Egbert, 
who  was  now  consciously  among  the  seniors  of 
the  gathering.  Thereafter  they  were  baffled 
men.  .  .  . 

But  already  by  that  time  the  work  of  the  coun- 
cil was  drawing  to  an  end.  It  was  concerned  not 
so  much  for  the  continuation  of  its  constructions 
as  for  the  preservation  of  its  accomplished  work 
from  the  dramatic  instincts  of  the  politician. 

The  life  of  the  race  becomes  indeed  more  and 
more  independent  of  the  formal  government. 
The  council  in  its  opening  phase  was  heroic  in 
spirit;  a  dragon-slaying  body.  It  slashed  out  of 
existence  a  vast  knotted  tangle  of  obsolete  Ideas 
and  clumsy  and  jealous  proprietorships;  it  secured 
by  a  noble  system  of  institutional  precautions,  free- 

246 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

dom  of  Inquiry,  freedom  of  criticism,  free  com- 
munications, a  common  basis  of  education  and 
understanding  and  freedom  from  economic  op- 
pression. With  that  Its  creative  task  was  accom- 
phshed.  It  became  more  and  more  an  estabhshed 
security  and  less  and  less  an  active  Intervention. 
There  Is  nothing  In  our  time  to  correspond  with 
the  continual  petty  making  and  entangling  of  laws 
in  an  atmosphere  of  contention  that  Is  perhaps  the 
most  perplexing  aspect  of  constitutional  history  in 
the  nineteenth  century.  In  that  age  they  seem  to 
have  been  perpetually  making  laws  when  we 
should  alter  regulations.  The  work  of  change 
which  we  delegate  to  these  scientific  committees 
of  specific  general  direction  which  have  the  spe- 
cial knowledge  needed,  and  which  are  themselves 
dominated  by  the  broad  Intellectual  process  of  the 
community,  was  in  those  days  Inextricably  mixed 
up  with  legislation.  They  fought  over  the  de- 
tails; we  should  as  soon  think  of  fighting  over  the 
arrangement  of  the  parts  of  a  machine.  We 
know  nowadays  that  such  things  go  on  best  within 
laws,  as  life  goes  on  between  earth  and  sky.  And 
so  It  is  that  government  gathers  now  for  a  day  or 
so  in  each  year  under  the  sunshine  of  Brissago 
when  St.  Bruno's  lilies  are  In  flower,  and  does 
little  more  than  bless  the  work  of  Its  committees. 
And  even  these  committees  are  less  originative 

247 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

and  more  expressive  of  the  general  thought  than 
they  were  at  first.  It  becomes  difficult  to  mark 
out  the  particular  directive  personalities  of 
the  world.  Continually  we  are  less  personal. 
Every  good  thought  contributes  now,  and  every 
able  brain  falls  within  that  informal  and  dispersed 
kingship  which  gathers  together  into  one  purpose 
the  energies  of  the  race. 

§  9. 
It  is  doubtful  if  we  shall  ever  see  again  a  phase 
of  human  existence  in  which  "  politics,"  that  is 
to  say  a  partisan  interference  with  the  ruling  sani- 
ties of  the  world,  will  be  the  dominant  interest 
among  serious  men.  We  seem  to  have  entered 
upon  an  entirely  new  phase  in  history,  in  which 
contention,  as  distinguished  from  rivalry,  has  al- 
most abruptly  ceased  to  be  the  usual  occupation, 
and  has  become  at  most  a  subdued  and  hidden  and 
discredited  thing.  Contentious  professions  cease 
to  be  an  honourable  employment  for  men.  The 
peace  between  nations  is  also  a  peace  between  in- 
dividuals. We  live  in  a  world  that  comes  of  age. 
Man  the  warrior,  man  the  lawyer,  and  all  the 
bickering  aspects  of  life,  pass  into  obscurity;  the 
grave  dreamers,  man  the  curious  learner  and  man 
the  creative  artist,  come  forward  to  replace  these 

248 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

barbaric  aspects  of  existence  by  a  less  ignoble  ad- 
venture. 

There  is  no  natural  life  of  man.  He  is  and 
always  has  been  a  sheath  of  varied  and  even  in- 
compatible possibilities,  a  palimpsest  of  inherited 
dispositions.  It  was  the  habit  of  many  writers 
in  the  early  twentieth  century  to  spealc  of  competi- 
tion and  the  narrow  private  life  of  trade  and  sav- 
ing and  suspicious  isolation  as  though  such  things 
were  in  some  exceptional  way  proper  to  the  hu- 
man constitution,  and  as  though  openness  of  mind 
Sand  a  preference  for  achievement  over  possession 
were  abnormal  and  rather  unsubstantial  qualities. 
How  wrong  that  was  the  history  of  the  decades 
immediately  following  the  establishment  of  the 
World  Republic  witnesses.  Once  the  world  was 
released  from  the  hardening  insecurities  of  a  need- 
less struggle  for  life  that  was  collectively  planless 
and  individually  absorbing,  it  became  apparent 
that  there  was  in  the  vast  mass  of  people  a  long- 
smothered  passion  to  make  things.  The  world 
broke  out  into  making,  and  at  first  mainly  into 
aesthetic  making.  This  phase  of  history,  which 
has  been  not  inaptly  termed  the  "  Efflorescence," 
is  still  to  a  large  extent  with  us.  The  majority 
of  our  population  consists  of  artists,  and  the  bulk 
of  activity  in  the  world  lies  no  longer  with  neces- 

249 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

sities,  but  with  their  elaboration,  decoration  and 
refinement.  There  has  been  an  evident  change  In 
the  quahty  of  this  making  during  recent  years.  It 
becomes  more  purposeful  than  it  was,  losing  some- 
thing of  its  first  elegance  and  prettiness  and  gain- 
ing in  intensity;  but  that  is  a  change  rather  of  hue 
than  of  nature.  That  comes  with  a  deepening 
philosophy  and  a  sounder  education.  For  the 
first  joyous  exercises  of  fancy  we  perceive  now  the 
deliberation  of  a  more  constructive  imagination. 
There  is  a  natural  order  in  these  things,  and  art 
comes  before  science  as  the  satisfaction  of  more 
elemental  needs  must  come  before  art,  and  as 
play  and  pleasure  come  In  a  human  life  before  the 
development  of  a  settled  purpose.   .   .   . 

For  thousands  of  years  this  gathering  impulse 
to  creative  work  must  have  struggled  in  man 
against  the  limitations  Imposed  upon  him  by  his 
social  ineptitude.  It  was  a  long-smouldering  fire 
that  flamed  out  at  last  Into  all  these  things.  The 
evidence  of  a  pathetic,  perpetually  thwarted 
urgency  to  make  something  Is  one  of  the  most 
touching  aspects  of  the  relics  and  records  of  our 
immediate  ancestors.  There  exists  still  in  the 
death  area  about  the  London  bombs  a  region  of 
deserted  small  homes  that  furnish  the  most  illumi- 
nating comment  on  the  old  state  of  affairs.  These 
homes    are    entirely    horrible,    uniform,    square, 

250 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

squat,  hideously  proportioned,  uncomfortable, 
dingy,  and  in  some  respects  quite  filthy;  only  peo- 
ple in  complete  despair  of  anything  better  could 
have  lived  in  them,  but  to  each  is  attached  a  ridic- 
ulous little  rectangle  of  land  called  "  the  garden," 
containing  usually  a  prop  for  drying  clothes  and  a 
loathsome  box  of  offal,  the  dustbin,  full  of  egg- 
shells, cinders  and  such-like  refuse.  Now  that  one 
may  go  about  this  region  in  comparative  security  — 
for  the  London  radiations  have  dwindled  to  in- 
considerable proportions  —  it  is  possible  to  trace 
in  nearly  every  one  of  these  gardens  some  effort 
to  make.  Here  it  is  a  poor  little  plank  summer- 
house,  here  it  is  a  "  fountain  "  of  bricks  and  oys- 
ter-shells, here  a  "  rockery,"  here  a  "  workshop." 
And  in  the  houses  everywhere  there  are  pitiful 
little  decorations,  clumsy  models,  feeble  drawings. 
These  efforts  are  almost  incredibly  inept,  like  the 
drawings  of  blindfolded  men;  they  are  only  one 
shade  less  harrowing  to  a  sympathetic  observer 
than  the  scratchings  one  finds  upon  the  walls  of 
the  old  prisons,  but  there  they  are,  witnessing  to 
the  poor  buried  instincts  that  struggled  up  to- 
wards the  light.  That  god  of  joyous  expression 
our  poor  fathers  ignorantly  sought,  our  freedom 
has  declared  to  us.   .   .   . 

In  the  old  days  the  common  ambition  of  every 
simple  soul  was  to  possess  a  little  property,  a  patch 

251 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

of  land,  a  house  uncontrolled  by  others,  an  "  in- 
dependence," as  the  English  used  to  put  it.  And 
what  made  this  desire  for  freedom  and  prosperity 
so  strong  was  very  evidently  the  dream  of  self- 
expression,  of  doing  something  with  it,  of  playing 
with  it,  of  making  a  personal  delightfulness,  a 
distinctiveness.  Property  was  never  more  than 
a  means  to  an  end,  nor  avarice  more  than  a  per- 
version. Men  owned  in  order  to  do  freely. 
Now  that  everyone  has  his  own  apartments  and 
his  own  privacy  secure,  this  disposition  to  own 
has  found  Its  release  in  a  new  direction.  Men 
study  and  save  and  strive  that  they  may  leave 
behind  them  a  series  of  panels  in  some  public 
arcade,  a  row  of  carven  figures  along  a  terrace,  a 
grove,  a  pavilion.  Or  they  give  themselves  to 
the  penetration  of  some  still  opaque  riddle  in 
phenomena  as  once  men  gave  themselves  to  the 
accumulation  of  riches.  The  work  that  was  once 
the  whole  substance  of  social  existence  —  for  most 
men  spent  all  their  lives  in  earning  a  living  —  is 
now  no  more  than  was  the  burthen  upon  one  of 
those  old  climbers  who  carried  knapsacks  of  pro- 
visions on  their  backs  in  order  that  they  might 
ascend  mountains.  It  matters  little  to  the  easy 
charities  of  our  emancipated  time  that  most  peo- 
ple who  have  made  their  labour  contribution  pro- 
duce neither  new  beauty  nor  new  wisdom,  but  are 

252 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

simply  busy  about  those  pleasant  activities  and 
enjoyments  that  reassure  them  that  they  are  alive. 
They  help,  It  may  be,  by  reception  and  reverbera- 
tion, and  they  hinder  nothing.   .   .   . 

§    lo. 

Now  all  this  phase  of  gigantic  change  in 
the  contours  and  appearances  of  human  life  which 
is  going  on  about  us,  a  change  as  rapid  and  as 
wonderful  as  the  swift  ripening  of  adolescence  to 
manhood  after  the  barbaric  boyish  years.  Is  cor- 
related with  moral  and  mental  changes  at  least 
as  unprecedented.  It  Is  not  as  if  old  things  were 
going  out  of  life  and  new  things  coming  in.  It  is 
rather  that  the  altered  circumstances  of  men  are 
making  an  appeal  to  elements  in  his  nature  that 
have  hitherto  been  suppressed,  and  checking  ten- 
dencies that  have  hitherto  been  over-stimulated 
and  over-developed.  He  has  not  so  much  grown 
and  altered  his  essential  being  as  turned  new  as- 
pects to  the  light.  Such  turnings  round  into  a 
new  attitude  the  world  has  seen  on  a  less  extensive 
scale  before.  The  Highlanders  of  the  seven- 
teentli  century,  for  example,  were  cruel  and  blood- 
thirsty robbers;  in  the  nineteenth  their  descendants 
were  conspicuously  trusty  and  honourable  men. 
There  was  not  a  people  in  Western  Europe  In  the 
early  twentieth   century   that   seemed   capable  of 

253 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

hideous  massacres,  and  none  that  had  not  been 
guilty  of  them  within  the  previous  two  centuries. 
The  free,  frank,  kindly,  gentle  life  of  the  pros- 
perous classes  in  any  European  country  before  the 
years  of  the  last  wars  was  in  a  different  world  of 
thought  and  feeling  from  that  of  the  dingy,  sus- 
picious, secretive,  and  uncharitable  existence  of 
the  respectable  poor,  or  the  constant  personal  vio- 
lence, the  squalor,  and  naive  passions  of  the  low- 
est stratum.  Yet  there  were  no  real  differences 
of  blood  and  inherent  quality  between  these 
worlds;  their  differences  were  all  in  circumstances, 
suggestion,  and  habits  of  mind.  And  turning  to 
more  individual  instances,  the  constantly  observed 
difference  between  one  portion  of  a  life  and  an- 
other consequent  upon  a  religious  conversion  were 
a  standing  example  of  the  versatile  possibilities 
of  human  nature. 

The  catastrophy  of  the  atomic  bombs  which 
shook  men  out  of  cities  and  businesses  and  eco- 
nomic relations,  shook  them  also  out  of  their 
old-established  habits  of  thought,  and  out  of  the 
lightly  held  beliefs  and  prejudices  that  came  down 
to  them  from  the  past.  To  borrow  a  word  from 
the  old-fashioned  chemists,  men  were  made 
nascent;  they  were  released  from  old  ties;  for 
good  or  evil  they  were  ready  for  new  associations. 
The  council  carried  them  forward  for  good;  pcr- 

254 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

haps  if  his  bombs  had  reached  their  destination, 
King  Ferdinand  Charles  might  have  carried  them 
back  to  an  endless  chain  of  evils.  But  his  task 
would  have  been  a  harder  one  than  the  council's. 
The  moral  shock  of  the  atomic  bombs  had  been  a 
profound  one,  and  for  a  while  the  cunning  side  of 
the  human  animal  was  overpowered  by  its  sincere 
realisation  of  the  vital  necessity  for  reconstruc- 
tion. The  litigious  and  trading  spirits  cowered 
together,  scared  at  their  own  consequences;  men 
thought  twice  before  they  sought  mean  advantages 
in  the  face  of  the  unusual  eagerness  to  realise 
new  aspirations,  and  when  at  last  the  weeds  re- 
vived again  and  "  claims  "  began  to  sprout,  they 
sprouted  upon  the  stony  soil  of  law  courts  re- 
formed, of  laws  that  pointed  to  the  future  instead 
of  the  past,  and  under  the  blazing  sunshine  of  a 
transforming  world.  A  new  literature,  a  new  in- 
terpretation of  history  were  springing  into  ex- 
istence, a  new  teaching  was  already  in  the  schools, 
a  new  faith  in  the  hearts  of  the  young.  The 
worthy  man  who  forestalled  the  building  of  a  re- 
search city  for  the  English  upon  the  Sussex  downs 
by  buying  up  a  series  of  estates  was  dispossessed 
and  laughed  out  of  court  when  he  made  his  de- 
mand for  some  preposterous  compensation;  the 
owner  of  the  discredited  Dass  patents  makes  his 
last  appearance  upon  the  scroll  of  history  as  the 

2S5 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

insolvent  proprietor  of  a  paper  called  The  Cry 
for  Justice,  in  which  he  duns  the  world  for  a  hun- 
dred million  pounds.  That  was  the  ingenuous 
Dass's  idea  of  justice,  that  he  ought  to  be  paid 
about  five  million  pounds  annually  because  he  had 
annexed  the  selvage  of  one  of  Holsten's  discov- 
eries. Dass  came  at  last  to  believe  quite  firmly 
in  his  right,  and  he  died  a  victim  to  conspiracy 
mania  in  a  private  hospital  at  Nice.  Both  of 
these  men  would  probably  have  ended  their  days 
enormously  wealthy,  and  of  course  ennobled,  in 
the  England  of  the  opening  twentieth  century,  and 
it  is  just  this  novelty  of  their  fates  that  marks 
the  quality  of  the  new  age. 

The  new  government  early  discovered  the  need 
of  a  universal  education  to  fit  men  to  the  great 
conceptions  of  its  universal  rule.  It  made  no 
wrangling  attacks  on  the  local,  racial,  and  sec- 
tarian forms  of  religious  profession  that  at  that 
time  divided  the  earth  into  a  patchwork  of  hatreds 
and  distrusts;  it  left  these  organisations  to  make 
their  peace  with  God  in  their  own  time;  but  it 
proclaimed,  as  if  it  were  a  mere  secular  truth, 
that  sacrifice  was  expected  from  all,  that  respect 
had  to  be  shown  to  all;  It  revived  schools  or  set 
them  up  afresh  all  round  the  world,  and  every- 
where these  schools  taught  the  history  of  war  and 
the  consequences   and  moral  of  the  Last  War; 

256 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

everywhere  it  was  taught  not  as  a  sentiment,  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  the  salvation  of  the  world 
from  waste  and  contention  was  the  common  duty 
and  occupation  of  all  men  and  women.  These 
things,  which  are  now  the  elementary  common- 
places of  human  intercourse,  seemed  to  the  coun- 
cillors of  Brissago,  when  first  they  dared  to 
proclaim  them,  marvellously  daring  discoveries, 
not  untouched  by  doubt,  that  flushed  the  cheek  and 
fired  the  eye. 

The  council  placed  all  this  educational  and  re- 
construction in  the  hands  of  a  committee  of  men 
and  women,  which  did  its  work  during  the  next 
few  decades  with  remarkable  breadth  and  effect- 
iveness. This  educational  committee  was  and  Is 
the  correlative  upon  the  mental  and  spiritual  side 
of  the  redistribution  committee.  And  prominent 
upon  it,  and  Indeed  for  a  time  quite  dominating 
it,  was  a  Russian  named  KarenIn,  who  was  singu- 
lar in  being  a  congenital  cripple.  His  body  was 
bent  so  that  he  walked  with  diflliculty,  suffered 
much  pain  as  he  grew  older,  and  had  at  last  to 
undergo  two  operations.  The  second  killed  him. 
Already  malformation,  which  was  to  be  seen  In 
every  crowd  during  the  Middle  Ages,  so  that  the 
crippled  beggar  was,  as  it  were,  an  essential  fea- 
ture of  the  human  spectacle,  was  becoming  a 
strange  thing  in  the  world.     It  had  a  curious  ef- 

257 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

feet  upon  Karenln's  colleagues;  their  feeling  to- 
wards him  was  mingled  with  pity  and  a  sense  of 
inhumanity  that  it  needed  usage  rather  than  rea- 
son to  overcome.  He  had  a  strong  face,  with 
little  bright  brown  eyes,  rather  deeply  sunken, 
and  a  large,  resolute,  thin-lipped  mouth.  His 
skin  was  very  yellow  and  wrinkled  and  his  hair 
iron  grey.  He  was  at  all  times  an  Impatient  and 
sometimes  an  angry  man,  but  this  was  forgiven 
him  because  of  the  hot  wire  of  suffering  that  was 
manifestly  thrust  through  his  being.  At  the  end 
of  his  life  his  personal  prestige  was  very  great. 
To  him  far  more  than  to  any  contemporary  is  it 
due  that  self-abnegation,  self-identification  with 
the  world  spirit,  was  made  the  basis  of  universal 
education.  That  general  memorandum  to  the 
teachers  which  is  the  keynote  of  the  modern  edu- 
cational system  was  probably  entirely  his  work. 

"  Whosoever  would  save  his  soul  shall  lose  it," 
he  wrote.  "  That  is  the  device  upon  the  seal  of 
this  document  and  the  starting-point  of  all  we 
have  to  do.  It  is  a  mistake  to  regard  it  as  any- 
thing but  a  plain  statement  of  fact.  It  is  the 
basis  for  your  work.  You  have  to  teach  self- 
forgetfulness,  and  everything  else  that  you  have 
to  teach  Is  contributory  and  subordinate  to  that 
end.  Education  is  the  release  of  man  from  self. 
You  have  to  widen  the  horizons  of  your  children, 

258 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

encourage  and  intensify  their  curiosity,  and  their 
creative  impulses,  and  cultivate  and  enlarge  their 
sympathies.  That  is  what  you  are  for.  Under 
your  guidance  and  the  suggestions  you  will  bring 
to  bear  on  them,  they  have  to  shed  the  Old  Adam 
of  instinctive  suspicions,  hostilities,  and  passions, 
and  to  find  themselves  again  in  the  great  being  of 
the  universe.  The  little  circles  of  their  egotisms 
have  to  be  opened  out  until  they  become  arcs  in 
the  sweep  of  the  racial  purpose.  And  this  that 
you  teach  to  others  you  must  learn  also  sedulously 
yourselves.  Philosophy,  discovery,  art,  every 
sort  of  skill,  every  sort  of  service,  love;  these  are 
the  means  of  salvation  from  that  narrow  loneli- 
ness of  desire,  that  brooding  preoccupation  with 
self  and  egotistical  relationships,  which  is  hell  for 
the  individual,  treason  to  the  race,  and  exile  from 
God.  .  .  ." 

§   1 1. 

As  things  round  themselves  off  and  accomplish 
themselves,  one  begins  for  the  first  time  to  see 
them  clearly.  From  the  perspectives  of  a  new 
age  one  can  look  back  upon  the  great  and  widen- 
ing stream  of  literature  with  a  complete  under- 
standing. Things  link  up  that  seemed  dis- 
connected, and  things  that  were  once  condemned 
as  harsh  and  aimless  are  seen  to  be  factors  In  the 
statement  of  a  gigantic  problem.     An  enormous 

259 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

bulk  of  the  sincerer  writing  of  the  eighteenth, 
nineteenth,  and  twentieth  centuries  falls  together 
now  into  an  unanticipated  unanimity;  one  sees  it 
as  a  huge  tissue  of  variations  upon  one  theme, 
the  conflict  of  human  egotism  and  personal  pas- 
sion and  narrow  imagination  on  the  one  hand, 
against  the  growing  sense  of  wider  necessities  and 
a  possible,  more  spacious  life. 

That  conflict  is  in  evidence  in  so  early  a  work, 
as  Voltaire's  Candide,  for  example,  in  which 
the  desire  for  justice  as  well  as  happiness  beats 
against  human  contrariety  and  takes  refuge  at 
last  in  a  forced  and  Inconclusive  contentment  with 
little  things.  Candide  was  but  one  of  the  pio- 
neers of  a  literature  of  uneasy  complaint  that  was 
presently  an  Innumerable  multitude  of  books. 
The  novels,  more  particularly,  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  If  one  excludes  the  mere  story-tellers 
from  our  consideration,  witness  to  this  uneasy 
realisation  of  changes  that  call  for  effort  and  of 
the  lack  of  that  effort.  In  a  thousand  aspects,  now 
tragically,  now  comically,  now  with  a  funny  affec- 
tation of  divine  detachment,  a  countless  host  of 
witnesses  tell  their  story  of  lives  fretting  between 
dreams  and  limitations.  Now  one  laughs,  now 
one  weeps,  now  one  reads  with  a  blank  astonish- 
ment at  this  huge  and  almost  unpremeditated  rec- 
ord of  how  the  growing  human  spirit,  now  warily, 

260 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

now  eagerly,  now  furiously,  and  always,  as  it 
seems,  unsuccessfully,  tried  to  adapt  itself  to  the 
maddening  misfit  of  Its  patched  and  ancient  gar- 
ments. And  always  in  these  books,  as  one  draws 
nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  there  comes  a 
disconcerting  evasion.  It  was  the  fantastic  con- 
vention of  the  time  that  a  writer  should  not  touch 
upon  religion.  To  do  so  was  to  rouse  the  jealous 
fury  of  the  great  multitude  of  the  professional 
religious  teachers.  It  was  permitted  to  state  the 
discord,  but  it  was  forbidden  to  glance  at  any 
possible  reconciliation.  Religion  was  the  privi- 
lege of  the  pulpit.  .  .  . 

It  was  not  only  from  the  novels  that  religion 
was  omitted.  It  was  ignored  by  the  newspapers; 
it  was  pedantically  disregarded  in  the  discussion 
of  business  questions,  it  played  a  trivial  and  apolo- 
getic part  In  public  affairs.  And  this  was  done, 
not  out  of  contempt,  but  respect.  The  hold  of 
the  old  religious  organisations  upon  men's  respect 
was  still  enormous,  so  enormous  that  there  seemed 
to  be  a  quality  of  Irreverence  In  applying  religion 
to  the  developments  of  every  day.  This  strange 
suspension  of  religion  lasted  over  Into  the  begin- 
nings of  the  new  age.  It  was  the  clear  vision  of 
Marcus  Karenin  much  more  than  any  other  con- 
temporary Influence  which  brought  it  back  into 
the  texture  of  human  life.     He  saw  religion  wlth- 

261 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

out  hallucinations,  without  superstitious  reverence, 
as  a  common  thing  as  necessary  as  food  and  air, 
as  land  and  energy  to  the  life  of  man  and  the 
well-being  of  the  Republic.  He  saw  that  indeed 
it  had  already  percolated  away  from  the  temples 
and  hierarchies  and  symbols  in  which  men  had 
sought  to  Imprison  it,  that  it  was  already  at  work 
anonymously  and  obscurely  in  the  universal  ac- 
ceptance of  the  greater  state.  He  gave  It  clearer 
expression,  rephrased  it  to  the  lights  and  per- 
spectives of  the  new  dawn.  .  .  . 

But  If  we  return  to  our  novels  for  our  evidence 
of  the  spirit  of  the  times,  it  becomes  evident  as 
one  reads  them  in  their  chronological  order,  so 
far  as  that  is  now  ascertainable,  that  as  one 
comes  to  the  later  nineteenth  century  and  the 
earlier  twentieth  century,  the  writers  are  much 
more  acutely  aware  of  secular  change  than 
their  predecessors  were.  The  earlier  novelists 
tried  to  show  "  life  as  It  is,"  the  later  showed  life 
as  it  changes.  More  and  more  of  their  characters 
are  engaged  In  adaptation  to  change  or  suffering 
from  the  effects  of  world  changes.  And  as  we 
come  up  to  the  time  of  the  Last  Wars,  this  newer 
conception  of  the  everyday  life  as  a  reaction  to 
an  accelerated  development  Is  continually  more 
manifest.  Barnet's  book,  which  has  served  us 
so  well,  Is  frankly  a  picture  of  the  world  coming 

262 


THE  NEW  PHASE 

about  like  a  ship  that  sails  into  the  wind.  Our 
later  novelists  give  a  vast  gallery  of  individual 
conflicts,  in  which  old  habits  and  customs,  limited 
ideas,  ungenerous  temperaments,  and  innate  ob- 
sessions are  pitted  against  this  great  opening  out 
of  life  that  has  happened  to  us.  They  tell  us  of 
the  feelings  of  old  people  who  have  been  wrenched 
away  from  familiar  surroundings,  and  how  they 
have  had  to  make  peace  with  uncomfortable  com- 
forts and  conveniences  that  are  still  strange  to 
them.  They  give  us  the  discord  between  the 
opening  egotisms  of  youth  and  the  ill-defined  limi- 
tations of  a  changing  social  life.  They  tell  of  the 
universal  struggle  of  jealousy  to  capture  and  crip- 
ple our  souls,  of  romantic  failures  and  tragical 
misconceptions  of  the  trend  of  the  world,  of  the 
spirit  of  adventure  and  the  urgency  of  curiosity 
and  how  these  serve  the  universal  drift.  And  all 
their  stories  lead  in  the  end  either  to  happiness 
missed  or  happiness  won,  to  disaster  or  salvation. 
The  clearer  their  vision  and  the  subtler  their  art, 
the  more  certainly  do  these  novels  tell  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  salvation  for  all  the  world.  For  any 
road  in  life  leads  to  religion  for  those  upon  it 
who  will  follow  it  far  enough.   .  .   . 

It  would  have  seemed  a  strange  thing  to  the 
men  of  the  former  time  that  it  should  be  an  open 
question,    as   it   is   to-day,   whether  the  world   is 

263 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

wholly  Christian  or  not  Christian  at  all.  But  as- 
suredly we  have  the  spirit,  and  as  surely  have  we 
left  many  temporary  forms  behind.  Christianity 
was  the  first  expression  of  world  religion,  the 
first  complete  repudiation  of  tribalism  and  war 
and  disputation.  That  it  fell  presently  Into  the 
ways  of  more  ancient  rituals  cannot  alter  that. 
The  common  sense  of  mankind  has  toiled  through 
two  thousand  years  of  chastening  experience,  to 
find  at  last  how  sound  a  meaning  attaches  to  the 
familiar  phrases  of  the  Christian  faith.  The  sci- 
entific thinker,  as  he  widens  out  to  the  moral 
problems  of  the  collective  life,  comes  Inevitably 
upon  the  words  of  Christ,  and  as  inevitably  does 
the  Christian,  as  his  thought  grows  clearer,  arrive 
at  the  World  Republic.  As  for  the  claims  of 
the  sects,  as  for  the  use  of  a  name  and  successions, 
—  we  live  In  a  time  that  has  shaken  itself  free 
from  such  claims  and  consistencies. 


264 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTH 
The  Last  Days  of  Marcus  Karenin 

§    !• 

The  second  operation  upon  Marcus  Karenin 
was  performed  at  the  new  station  for  surgical 
work  at  Paran,  high  in  the  Himalayas  above  the 
Sutlej  gorge  where  it  comes  down  out  of  Thibet. 

It  is  a  place  of  such  wildness  and  beauty  as 
no  other  scenery  in  the  world  affords.  The  gran- 
ite terrace  which  runs  round  the  four  sides  of 
the  low  block  of  laboratories  looks  out  in  every 
direction  upon  mountains.  Far  below  in  the  hid- 
den depths  of  a  shadowy  blue  cleft,  the  river 
pours  down  in  its  tumultuous  passage  to  the 
swarming  plains  of  India.  No  sound  of  its  roar- 
ing haste  comes  up  to  those  serenities.  Beyond 
that  blue  gulf,  in  which  whole  forests  of  giant 
deodars  seem  no  more  than  small  patches  of  moss, 
rise  vast  precipices  of  many-coloured  rock,  fretted 
above,  lined  by  snowfalls  and  jagged  into  pinnacles. 
These  are  the  northward  wall  of  a  towering  wil- 
derness of  Ice  and  snow  which  clambers  south- 
ward, higher  and  wilder  and  vaster  to  the  culmi- 

265 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

nating  summits  of  our  globe,  to  Dhaulaglrl  and 
Everest.  Here  are  cliffs  of  which  no  other  land 
can  show  the  like,  and  deep  chasms  in  which  Mont 
Blanc  might  be  plunged  and  hidden.  Here  are 
icefields  as  big  as  inland  seas,  on  which  the  tum- 
bled boulders  lie  so  thickly  that  strange  little  flow- 
ers can  bloom  among  them  under  the  untempered 
sunshine.  To  the  northward,  and  blocking  out 
any  vision  of  the  uplands  of  Thibet,  rises  that 
citadel  of  porcelain,  that  Gothic  pile,  the  Lio 
Porgyul,  walls,  towers,  and  peaks,  a  clear  twelve 
thousand  feet  of  veined  and  splintered  rock  above 
the  river.  And  beyond  it  and  eastward  and  west- 
ward rise  peaks  behind  peaks,  against  the  dark 
blue  Himalayan  sky.  Far  away  below  to  the 
south  the  clouds  of  the  Indian  rains  pile  up  ab- 
ruptly and  are  stayed  by  an  invisible  hand. 

Hither  it  was  that,  with  a  dreamlike  swiftness, 
Karenin  flew  high  over  the  irrigations  of  Raj- 
putana  and  the  towers  and  cupolas  of  the  ultimate 
Delhi;  and  the  little  group  of  buildings,  albeit 
the  southward  wall  dropped  nearly  five  hundred 
feet,  seemed  to  him  as  he  soared  down  to  it  like 
a  toy  lost  among  these  mountain  wildernesses. 
No  road  came  up  to  this  place;  it  was  reached 
only  by  flight. 

His  pilot  descended  to  the  great  courtyard,  and 
Karenin,  assisted  by  his  secretary,  clambered  down 

266 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

through  the  wing  fabric  and  made  his  way  to  the 
officials  who  came  out  to  receive  him. 

In  this  place,  beyond  infections  and  noise  and 
any  distraction,  surgery  had  made  for  itself  a 
house  of  research  and  a  healing  fastness.  The 
building  itself  would  have  seemed  very  wonderful 
to  eyes  accustomed  to  the  flimsy  architecture  of 
an  age  when  power  was  precious.  It  was  made 
of  granite,  already  a  little  roughened  on  the  out- 
side by  frost,  but  polished  within  and  of  a  tre- 
mendous solidity.  And  In  a  honeycomb  of  subtly 
lit  apartments,  were  the  spotless  research  benches, 
the  operating  tables,  the  Instruments  of  brass  and 
fine  glass  and  platinum  and  gold.  Men  and 
women  came  from  all  parts  of  the  world  for  study 
or  experimental  research.  They  wore  a  common 
uniform  of  white  and  ate  at  long  tables  together, 
but  the  patients  lived  In  an  upper  part  of^  the 
buildings  and  were  cared  for  by  nurses  and  skilled 
attendants.   ... 

The  first  man  to  greet  Karenin  was  Clana,  the 
scientific  director  of  the  Institution.  Beside  him 
was  Rachel  Borken,  the  chief  organiser.  "  You 
are  tired?  "  she  asked,  and  old  Karenin  shook  his 
head.  "  Cramped,"  he  said.  "  I  have  wanted 
to  visit  such  a  place  as  this." 

He  spoke  as  If  he  had  no  other  business  with 

them. 

267 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

There  was  a  little  pause. 

"  How  many  scientific  people  have  you  got  here 
now?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  three  hundred  and  ninety-two,"  said 
Rachel  Borken. 

"  And  the  patients  and  attendants,  and  so  on?  " 

"  Two  thousand  and  thirty." 

*'  I  shall  be  a  patient,"  said  Karenin.  "  I  shall 
have  to  be  a  patient.  But  I  should  like  to  see 
things  first.      Presently  I  will  be  a  patient." 

"You  will  come  to  my  rooms?"  suggested 
Ciana. 

"  And  then  I  must  talk  to  this  doctor  of  yours," 
said  Karenin.  "  But  I  would  like  to  see  a  bit 
of  this  place  and  talk  to  some  of  your  people  be- 
fore it  comes  to  that." 

He  winced  and  moved  forward. 

"  I  have  left  most  of  my  work  in  order,"  he 
said. 

"You  have  been  working  hard  up  to  now?" 
asked  Rached  Borken. 

"  Yes.  And  now  I  have  nothing  more  to  do 
—  and  it  seems  strange.  .  .  .  And  it's  a  bother, 
this  illness,  and  having  to  come  down  to  oneself. 
This  doorway  and  that  row  of  windows  is  well 
done;  the  grey  granite  and  just  the  line  of  gold 
and  then  those  mountains  beyond  through  that 
arch.     It's  very  well  done.  .  .  ." 

268 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

§    2. 

Karenin  lay  on  the  bed  with  a  soft  white  rug 
about  him,  and  Fowler,  who  was  to  be  his  sur- 
geon, sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  talked  to 
him.  An  assistant  was  seated  quietly  in  the 
shadow  behind  the  bed.  The  examination  had 
been  made  and  Karenin  knew  what  was  before 
him.     He  was  tired,  but  serene. 

*'  So  I  shall  die,"  he  said,  "  unless  you  oper- 
ate?" 

Fowler  assented. 

"  And  then,"  said  Karenin,  smiling,  "  probably 
I  shall  die." 

"  Not  certainly." 

"  Even  if  I  do  not  die,  shall  I  be  able  to 
work?" 

"  There  is  just  a  chance.  .  .  ." 

"  So  firstly  I  shall  probably  die,  and  if  I  do 
not,  then  perhaps  I  shall  be  a  useless  in- 
valid?" 

"  I  think.  If  you  live,  you  may  be  able  to  go 
on  —  as  you  do  now." 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  I  must  take  the  risk 
of  it.  Yet  couldn't  you.  Fowler,  couldn't  you 
drug  me  and  patch  me  instead  of  all  this  —  vivi- 
section? A  few  days  of  drugged  and  active  life 
—  and  then  the  end?  " 

269 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Fowler  thought.  *'  We  are  not  sure  enough 
yet  to  do  things  like  that,"  he  said. 

"  But  a  day  is  coming  when  you  will  be  cer- 
tain." 

Fowler  nodded. 

"  You  make  me  feel  as  though  I  was  the  last 
of  deformity.  Deformity  is  uncertainty  —  inac- 
curacy. My  body  works  doubtfully,  it  is  not  even 
sure  that  it  will  die  or  live.  I  suppose  the  time 
is  not  far  off  when  such  bodies  as  mine  will  no 
longer  be  born  into  the  world." 

"  You  see,"  said  Fowler  after  a  little  pause, 
"  it  is  necessary  that  spirits  such  as  yours  should 
be  born  into  the  world." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Karenin,  "  that  my  spirit  has 
had  its  use.  But  if  you  think  that  is  because  my 
body  is  as  it  is,  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  There 
is  no  peculiar  virtue  in  defect.  I  have  always 
chafed  against  —  all  this.  If  I  could  have  moved 
more  freely  and  lived  a  larger  life  in  health,  I 
could  have  done  more.  But  some  day  perhaps 
you  will  be  able  to  put  a  body  that  is  wrong  al- 
together right  again.  Your  science  is  only  begin- 
ning. It's  a  subtler  thing  than  physics  and  chem- 
istry, and  it  takes  longer  to  produce  its  miracles. 
And  meanwhile  a  few  more  of  us  must  die  in  pa- 
tience." 

"  Fine  work  is  being  done  and  much  of  it," 
270 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

said  Fowler.  "  I  can  say  as  much  because  I  have 
so  little  to  do  with  it.  I  can  understand  a  lesson, 
appreciate  the  discoveries  of  abler  men,  and  use 
my  hands,  but  those  others,  Pigou,  Masterton, 
Lie,  and  the  others,  they  are  clearing  the  ground 
fast  for  the  knowledge  to  come.  Have  you  had 
time  to   follow  their  work?  " 

Karenin  shook  his  head.  "  But  I  can  imagine 
the  scope  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  We  have  so  many  men  working  now,"  said 
Fowler.  "  I  suppose  at  present  there  must  be 
at  least  a  thousand  thinking  hard,  observing,  ex- 
perimenting, for  one  who  did  so  in  nineteen  hun- 
dred." 

"  Not  counting  those  who  keep  the  records?  " 

"  Not  counting  those.  Of  course,  the  present 
indexing  of  research  is  in  itself  a  very  big  work, 
and  it  is  only  now  that  we  are  getting  It  properly 
done.  But  already  we  are  feeling  the  benefit  of 
that.  Since  it  ceased  to  be  a  paid  employment 
and  became  a  devotion,  we  have  had  only  those 
people  who  obeyed  the  call  of  an  aptitude  at 
work  upon  these  things.  Here  —  I  must  show 
you  it  to-day  because  It  will  Interest  you  —  we 
have  our  copy  of  the  encyclopaedic  index  —  every 
week  sheets  are  taken  out  and  replaced  by  fresh 
sheets  with  new  results  that  are  brought  to  us 
by  the  aeroplanes  of  the  Research  Department. 

271 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

It  is  an  Index  of  knowledge  that  grows  continually, 
an  index  that  becomes  continually  truer.  There 
was  never  anything  like  it  before." 

"  When  I  came  into  the  education  committee," 
said  Karenin,  "  that  index  of  human  knowledge 
seemed  an  impossible  thing.  Research  had  pro- 
duced a  chaotic  mountain  Oif  results,  in  a  hundred 
languages  and  a  thousand  different  types  of  pub- 
lication. .  .  ."  He  smiled  at  his  memories. 
"  How  we  groaned  at  the  job!  " 

"  Already  the  ordering  of  that  chaos  is  nearly 
done.     You  shall  see." 

"  I  have  been  so  busy  with  my  own  work  — . 
Yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see." 

The  patient  regarded  the  surgeon  for  a  time 
with  interested  eyes. 

"  You  work  here  always?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  No,"  said  Fowler. 

"  But  mostly  you  work  here?  " 

"  I  have  worked  about  seven  years  out  of  the 
past  ten.  At  times  I  go  away  —  down  there. 
One  has  to.  At  least,  I  have  to.  There  is  a 
sort  of  greyness  comes  over  all  this,  one  feels 
hungry  for  life,  real,  personal,  passionate  life, 
love-making,  eating  and  drinking  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing,  jostling  crowds,  having  adventures, 
laughter  —  above  all,  laughter " 

"  Yes,"  said  Karenin  understandingly. 
272 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

"  And  then,  one  day,  suddenly  one  thinks  of 
these  high  mountains  again.  .   .   ." 

"  That  is  how  I  would  have  lived,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  my  —  defects,"  said  Karenin.  "No- 
body knows  but  those  who  have  borne  it  the  exas- 
peration of  abnormality.  It  will  be  good  when 
you  have  nobody  alive  whose  body  cannot  live 
the  wholesome  everyday  life,  whose  spirit  cannot 
come  up  into  these  high  places  as  it  wills." 

"  We  shall  manage  that  soon,"  said  Fowler. 

"  For  endless  generations  man  has  struggled 
upward  against  the  indignities  of  his  body  —  and 
the  indignities  of  his  soul.  Pains,  Incapacities, 
vile  fears,  black  moods,  despairs.  How  well  I've 
known  them.  They've  taken  more  time  than  all 
your  holidays.  It  is  true,  is  it  not,  that  every 
man  Is  something  of  a  cripple  and  something  of  a 
beast?  I've  dipped  a  little  deeper  than  most, 
that's  all.  It's  only  now,  when  he  has  fully  learnt 
the  truth  of  that,  that  he  can  take  hold  of  himself 
to  be  neither  beast  nor  cripple.  Now  that  he 
overcomes  his  servitude  to  his  body,  he  can  for 
the  first  time  think  of  living  the  full  life  of  his 
body.  .  .  .  Before  another  generation  dies  you'll 
have  the  thing  in  hand.  You'll  do  as  you  please 
with  the  Old  Adam  and  all  the  old  vestiges  from 
the  brutes  and  reptiles  that  lurk  In  his  body  and 
spirit.     Isn't  that  so?  " 

273 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  You  put  it  boldly,"  said  Fowler. 

Karenin  laughed  cheerfully  at  his  caution.   .  .  . 

"  When,"  asked  Karenin  suddenly,  "  when  will 
you  operate?  " 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Fowler. 
*'  For  a  day  I  want  you  to  drink  and  eat  as  I  shall 
prescribe.  And  you  may  think  and  talk  as  you 
please. 

"  You  shall  go  through  It  this  afternoon.  I 
will  have  two  men  carry  you  in  a  litter.  And  to- 
morrow you  shall  lie  out  upon  the  terrace.  Our 
mountains  here  are  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
world.  .  .  ." 

§  3- 

The  next  morning  Karenin  got  up  early  and 
watched  the  sun  rise  over  the  mountains,  and  break- 
fasted lightly,  and  then  young  Gardener,  his  sec- 
retary, came  to  consult  him  upon  the  spending  of 
his  day.  Would  he  care  to  see  people?  Or  was 
this  gnawing  pain  within  him  too  much  to  permit 
him  to  do  that. 

"  I'd  like  to  talk,"  said  Karenin.  "  There 
must  be  all  sorts  of  lively-minded  people  here. 
Let  them  come  and  gossip  with  me.  It  will  dis- 
tract me  —  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  interesting 
it  makes  everything  that  is  going  on  to  have  seen 
the  dawn  of  one's  own  last  day." 

"Your  last  day!" 

274 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

"  Fowler  will  kill  me." 

"  But  he  thinks  not." 

"  Fowler  will  kill  me.  If  he  does  not,  he  will 
not  leave  very  much  of  me.  So  that  this  is  my 
last  day,  anyhow;  the  days  afterwards,  if  they 
come  at  all  to  me,  will  be  refuse.     I  know.  .  .  ." 

Gardener  was  about  to  speak  when  Karenin 
went  on  again. 

"  I  hope  he  kills  me.  Gardener.  Don't  be  — 
old-fashioned.  The  thing  I  am  most  afraid  of 
is  that  last  rag  of  life.  I  may  just  go  on  —  a 
scarred  salvage  of  suffering  stuff.  And  then  — 
all  the  things  I  have  hidden  and  kept  down  or  dis- 
counted or  set  right  afterwards  will  get  the  better 
of  me.  I  shall  be  peevish.  I  may  lose  my  grip 
upon  my  own  egotism.  It's  never  been  a  very 
firm  grip.  No,  no.  Gardener,  don't  say  that! 
You  know  better,  you've  had  glimpses  of  it.  Sup- 
pose I  came  through  on  the  other  side  of  this  af- 
fair, belittled,  vain  and  spiteful,  using  the  prestige 
I  have  got  among  men  by  my  good  work  in  the 
past  just  to  serve  some  small,  invalid  pur- 
pose. .  .  ." 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  watching  the  mists 
among  the  distant  precipices  change  to  clouds  of 
light,  and  drift  and  dissolve  before  the  searching 
rays  of  the  sunrise. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  am  afraid  of  these 
275 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

antesthetics  and  these  fag-ends  of  life.  It's  life 
we  are  all  afraid  of.  Death !  —  nobody  minds 
just  death.  Fowler  is  clever  —  but  some  day 
surgery  will  know  its  duty  better  and  not  be  so 
anxious  just  to  save  something.  .  .  .  Provided 
only  that  it  quivers.  I've  tried  to  hold  my  end 
up  properly  and  do  my  work.  After  Fowler  has 
done  with  me  I  am  certain  I  shall  be  unfit  for  work 
—  and  what  else  is  there  for  me?  ...  I  know 
I  shall  not  be  fit  for  work.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  see  why  life  should  be  judged  by  its 
last  trailing  thread  of  vitality.  ...  I  know  it  for 
the  splendid  thing  it  is, —  I  who  have  been 
a  diseased  creature  from  the  beginning.  I  know 
it  well  enough  not  to  confuse  it  with  its  husks. 
Remember  that,  Gardener,  if  presently  my  heart 
fails  me  and  I  despair,  and  if  I  go  through  a  little 
phase  of  pain  and  ingratitude  and  dark  forgetful- 
ness  before  the  end.  .  .  .  Don't  believe  what  I 
may  say  at  the  last.  ...  If  the  fabric  is  good 
enough,  the  selvage  doesn't  matter.  It  can't  mat- 
ter. So  long  as  you  are  alive  you  are  just  the 
moment  perhaps,  but  when  you  are  dead  then  you 
are  all  your  life.  .  .   ." 


Presently,  In  accordance  with  his  wish,  people 
came  to  talk  to  him,  and  he  could  forget  himself 

276 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

again.  Rachel  Borken  sat  for  a  long  time  with 
him  and  talked  chiefly  of  women  in  the  world,  and 
with  her  was  a  girl  named  Edith  Haydon,  who 
was  already  very  well  known  as  a  cytologist. 
And  several  of  the  younger  men  who  were  work- 
ing in  the  place  and  a  patient  named  Kahn,  a  poet, 
and  Edwards,  a  designer  of  plays  and  shows, 
spent  some  time  with  him.  The  talk  wandered 
from  point  to  point  and  came  back  upon  itself, 
and  became  now  earnest  and  now  trivial,  as  the 
chance  suggestions  determined.  But  soon  after- 
wards Gardener  wrote  down  notes  of  things  he 
remembered,  and  it  is  possible  to  put  together 
again  the  outlook  of  Karenin  upon  the  world  and 
how  he  thought  and  felt  about  many  of  the  prin- 
cipal things  in  life. 

"  Our  age,"  he  said,  "  has  been  so  far  an  age 
of  scene-shifting.  We  have  been  preparing  a 
stage,  clearing  away  the  setting  of  a  drama  that 
was  played  out  and  growing  tiresome.  ...  If  I 
could  but  sit  out  the  first  few  scenes  of  the  new 
spectacle.   .   .   . 

"  How  encumbered  the  world  had  become !  It 
was  ailing  as  I  am  ailing  with  a  growth  of  unmean- 
ing things.  It  was  entangled,  feverish,  confused. 
It  was  in  sore  need  of  release,  and  I  suppose  that 
nothing  less  than  the  violence  of  those  bombs 
could  have  released  it  and  made  it  a  healthy  world 

277 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

again.  I  suppose  they  were  necessary.  Just  as 
everything  turns  to  evil  in  a  fevered  body,  so 
everything  seemed  turning  to  evil  In  those  last 
years  of  the  old  time.  Everywhere  there  were 
obsolete  organisations  seizing  upon  all  the  new 
fine  things  that  science  was  giving  to  the  world, 
nationalities,  all  sorts  of  political  bodies,  the 
churches  and  sects,  proprietorship,  seizing  upon 
those  great  powers  and  limitless  possibilities  and 
turning  them  to  evil  uses.  And  they  would  not 
suffer  open  speech;  they  would  not  permit  of  edu- 
cation; they  would  let  no  one  be  educated  to  the 
needs  of  the  new  time.  .  .  .  You  who  are  younger 
cannot  imagine  the  mixture  of  desperate  hope  and 
protesting  despair  in  which  we  who  could  believe 
In  the  possibilities  of  science  lived  in  those  years 
before  atomic  energy  came.  .  .  . 

"  It  was  not  only  that  the  mass  of  people  would 
not  attend,  would  not  understand,  but  that  those 
who  did  understand  lacked  the  power  of  real  be- 
lief. They  said  the  things,  they  saw  the  things, 
and  the  things  meant  nothing  to  them.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  been  reading  some  old  papers  lately. 
It  is  wonderful  how  our  fathers  bore  themselves 
towards  science.  They  hated  It.  They  feared 
it.  They  permitted  a  few  scientific  men  to  exist 
and  work  —  a  pitiful  handful.  .  .  .  'Don't  find 
out  anything  about  us,'  they  said  to  them;  '  don't 

278 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

inflict  vision  upon  us;  spare  our  little  ways  of  life 
from  the  fearful  shaft  of  understanding.  But  do 
tricks  for  us,  little  limited  tricks.  Give  us  cheap 
lighting.  And  cure  us  of  certain  disagreeable 
things  —  cure  us  of  cancer,  cure  us  of  consump- 
tion, cure  our  colds  and  relieve  us  after  reple- 
tion.' .  .  .  We  have  changed  all  that.  Gardener. 
Science  is  no  longer  our  servant.  We  know  it 
for  something  greater  than  our  little  individual 
selves.     It  is  the  awakening  mind  of  the  race,  and 

in  a  little  while  —  in  a  little  while I  wish 

indeed  I  could  watch  for  that  little  while,  now  that 
the  curtain  has  risen.  .  .  . 

"  While  I  lie  here  they  are  clearing  up  what  is 
left  of  the  bombs  in  London,"  he  said.  "  Then 
they  are  going  to  repair  the  ruins  and  make  it  all 
as  like  as  possible  to  its  former  condition  before 
the  bombs  fell.  Perhaps  they  will  dig  out  the  old 
house  in  St.  John's  Wood  to  which  my  father 
went  after  his  expulsion  from  Russia.  .  .  .  That 
London  of  my  memories  seems  to  me  like  a  place 
in  another  world.  For  you  younger  people  It 
must  seem  like  a  place  that  could  never  have  ex- 
isted." 

"Is  there  much  left  standing?"  asked  Edith 
Haydon. 

"  Square  miles  that  are  scarcely  shaken  in  the 
south  and  north-west,  they  say;  and  most  of  the 

279 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

bridges  and  large  areas  of  dock.  Westminster, 
which  held  most  of  the  Government  offices,  suf- 
fered badly  from  the  small  bomb  that  destroyed 
the  Parliament;  there  are  very  few  traces  of  the 
old  thoroughfare  of  Whitehall  or  the  Govern- 
ment region  thereabout,  but  there  are  plentiful 
drawings  to  scale  of  its  buildings;  and  the  great 
hole  in  the  east  of  London  scarcely  matters. 
That  was  a  poor  district,  and  very  like  the  north 
and  the  south.  ...  It  will  be  possible  to  recon- 
struct most  of  it.  .  .  .  It  is  wanted.  Already  it 
becomes  difficult  to  recall  the  old  time  —  even  for 
us  who  saw  it." 

"  It  seems  very  distant  to  me,"  said  the  girl. 

"  It  was  an  unwholesome  world,"  reflected 
Karenin.  "  I  seem  to  remember  everybody  about 
my  childhood  as  if  they  were  ill.  They  were  ill. 
They  were  sick  with  confusion.  Everybody  was 
anxious  about  money,  and  everybody  was  doing 
uncongenial  things.  They  ate  a  queer  mixture  of 
foods,  either  too  much  or  too  little,  and  at  odd 
hours.  One  sees  how  ill  they  were  by  their  adver- 
tisements. All  this  new  region  of  London  they 
are  opening  up  now  is  plastered  with  advertise- 
ments of  pills.  Everybody  must  have  been  tak- 
ing pills.  In  one  of  the  hotel  rooms  in  the  Strand 
they  have  found  the  luggage  of  a  lady  covered  up 
by    falling    rubble    and    unburnt,    and    she    was 

280 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

equipped  with  nine  different  sorts  of  pill  and  tab- 
loid. The  pill-carrying  age  followed  the  weapon- 
carrying  age.  They  are  equally  strange  to  us. 
People's  skins  must  have  been  in  a  vile  state. 
Very  few  people  were  properly  washed;  they  car- 
ried the  filth  of  months  on  their  clothes.  All  the 
clothes  they  wore  were  old  clothes;  our  way  of 
pulping  our  clothes  again  after  a  week  or  so  of 
wear  would  have  seemed  fantastic  to  them. 
Their  clothing  hardly  bears  thinking  about.  And 
the  congestion  of  them!  Everybody  was  jostling 
against  everybody  In  those  awful  towns.  In  an 
uproar.  People  were  run  over  and  crushed  by 
the  hundred;  every  year  in  London  the  cars  and 
omnibuses  alone  killed  or  disabled  twenty  thou- 
sand people;  in  Paris  It  was  worse;  people  used 
to  fall  dead  for  want  of  air  in  the  crowded  ways. 
The  irritation  of  London,  internal  and  external, 
must  have  been  maddening.  It  was  a  maddened 
world.  It  is  like  thinking  of  a  sick  child.  One 
has  the  same  effect  of  feverish  urgencies  and  acute 
Irrational  disappointments. 

"  All  history,"  he  said,  "  is  a  record  of  a  child- 
hood.  .  .  . 

''  And  yet  not  exactly  a  childhood.  There  Is 
something  clean  and  keen  about  even  a  sick  child 
—  and  something  touching.  But  so  much  of  the 
old  time  makes  one   angry.     So  much  they   did 

281 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

seems  grossly  stupid,  obstinately,  outrageously 
stupid,  which  is  the  very  opposite  to  being  fresh 
and  young. 

"  I  was  reading  only  the  other  day  about  Bis- 
marck, that  hero  of  nineteenth-century  politics, 
that  sequel  to  Napoleon,  that  god  of  blood  and 
Iron.  And  he  was  just  a  beery,  obstinate,  dull 
man.  Indeed,  that  Is  what  he  was  —  the  com- 
monest, coarsest  man  who  ever  became  great.  I 
looked  at  his  portraits,  a  heavy,  almost  froggish 
face,  with  projecting  eyes  and  a  thick  moustache 
to  hide  a  poor  mouth.  He  aimed  at  nothing  but 
Germany;  Germany  emphasised,  indurated,  en- 
larged; Germany  and  his  class  in  Germany;  be- 
yond that  he  had  no  ideas;  he  was  inaccessible  to 
ideas;  his  mind  never  rose  for  a  recorded  Instant 
above  a  bumpkin's  elaborate  cunning.  And  he 
was  the  most  influential  man  in  the  world,  in  the 
whole  world;  no  man  ever  left  so  deep  a  mark 
on  it,  because  everywhere  there  were  gross  men 
to  resonate  to  the  heavy  notes  he  emitted.  He 
trampled  on  ten  thousand  lovely  things,  and  a 
kind  of  malice  in  these  louts  made  It  pleasant  to 
them  to  see  him  trample.  No,  he  was  no  child; 
the  dull  national  agresslveness  he  stood  for,  no 
childishness.  Childhood  Is  promise.  He  was 
survival. 

"  All  Europe  offered  Its  children  to  him;  it  sac- 
282 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

rificed  education,  art,  happiness,  and  all  its  hopes 
of  future  welfare  to  follow  the  clatter  of  his  sabre. 
The  monstrous  worship  of  that  old  fool's  '  blood 
and  iron  '  passed  all  round  the  earth.  Until  the 
atomic  bombs  burnt  our  way  to  freedom 
again.   .   .   ." 

"  One  thinks  of  him  now  as  one  thinks  of  the 
megatherium,"  said  one  of  the  young  men. 

"  From  first  to  last  mankind  made  three  million 
big  guns  and  a  hundred  thousand  complicated 
great  ships  for  no  other  purpose  but  war." 

"Were  there  no  sane  men  in  those  days?" 
asked  the  young  man,  "  to  stand  against  that  idol- 
atry?" 

"  In  a  state  of  despair,"  said  Edith  Haydon. 

"  He  is  so  far  off  —  and  there  are  men  alive 
still  who  were  alive  when  Bismarck  died,"  said 
the  young  man.  .  .  . 

§  5- 
"  And  yet  it  may  be  I  am  unjust  to  Bismarck," 
said  Karenin,  following  his  own  thoughts.  "  You 
see,  men  belong  to  their  own  age;  we  stand  upon 
a  common  stock  of  thought,  and  we  fancy  we 
stand  upon  the  ground.  I  met  a  pleasant  man 
the  other  day,  a  Maori,  whose  great-grandfather 
was  a  cannibal.  It  chanced  he  had  a  Daguerreo- 
type of  the  old  sinner,  and  the  two  were  marvel- 

283 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

lously  alike.  One  felt  that  a  little  juggling  with 
time  and  either  might  have  been  the  other.  Peo- 
ple are  cruel  and  stupid  in  a  stupid  age  who  might 
be  gentle  and  splendid  in  a  gracious  one.  The 
world  also  has  its  moods.  Think  of  the  mental 
food  of  Bismarck's  childhood;  the  humiliations 
of  Napoleon's  victories,  the  crowded,  crowning 
victory  of  the  Battle  of  the  Nations.  .  .  .  Every- 
body in  those  days,  wise  or  foolish,  believed  that 
the  division  of  the  world  under  a  multitude  of 
governments  was  inevitable,  and  that  it  was  going 
on  for  thousands  of  years  more.  It  ivas  inevita- 
ble until  it  was  impossible.  Anyone  who  had  de- 
nied the  inevitability  publicly  would  have  been 
counted  —  oh  !  a  silly  fellow.  Old  Bismarck  was 
only  just  a  little  —  forcible,  on  the  lines  of  the 
accepted  ideas.  That  is  all.  He  thought  that 
since  there  had  to  be  national  governments,  he 
would  make  one  that  was  strong  at  home  and 
invincible  abroad.  Because  he  had  fed  with  a 
kind  of  rough  appetite  upon  what  we  can  see  now 
were  very  stupid  ideas,  that  does  not  make  him  a 
stupid  man.  We've  had  advantages;  we've  had 
unity  and  collectivism  blasted  into  our  brains. 
Where  should  we  be  now  but  for  the  grace  of  sci- 
ence? I  should  have  been  an  embittered,  spiteful, 
downtrodden  member  of  the  Russian  Intelligenza, 
a  conspirator,  a  prisoner,  or  an  assassin.     You, 

284 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

my  dear,   would  have  been  breaking  dingy  win- 
dows as  a  suffragette." 

"  Never,"  said  Edith  stoutly. 

For  a  time  the  talk  broke  into  humorous  per- 
sonalities, and  the  young  people  gibed  at  each 
other  across  the  smiling  old  administrator,  and 
then  presently  one  of  the  young  scientific  men 
gave  things  a  new  turn.  He  spoke  like  one  who 
was  full  to  the  brim. 

"  You  know,  sir,  I've  a  fancy  —  It  Is  hard  to 
prove  such"  things  —  that  civilisation  was  very 
near  disaster  v^'hen  the  atomic  bombs  came  bang- 
ing into  it,  that  if  there  had  been  no  Holsten  and 
no  induced  radio-activity,  the  world  would  have 
—  smashed  —  much  as  it  did.  Only  instead  of 
its  being  a  smash  that  opened  a  way  to  better 
things,  it  might  have  been  a  smash  without  a  re- 
covery. It  is  part  of  my  business  to  understand 
economics,  and  from  that  point  of  view  the  cen- 
tury before  Holsten  was  just  a  hundred  years' 
crescendo  of  waste.  Only  the  extreme  Individu- 
alism of  that  period,  only  its  utter  want  of  any 
collective  understanding  or  purpose,  can  explain 
that  waste.  Mankind  used  up  material  —  in- 
sanely. They  had  got  through  three-quarters  of 
all  the  coal  in  the  planet;  they  had  used  up  most 
of  the  oil;  they  had  swept  away  their  forests,  and 
they  were  running  short  of  tin  and  copper.     Their 

285 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

wheat  areas  were  getting  weary  and  populous, 
and  many  of  the  big  towns  had  so  lowered  the 
water  level  of  their  available  hills  that  they  suf- 
fered a  drought  ev^ery  summer.  The  whole  system 
was  rushing  towards  bankruptcy.  And  they  were 
spending  every  year  vaster  and  vaster  amounts  of 
power  and  energy  upon  military  preparations, 
and  continually  expanding  the  debt  of  industry 
to  capital.  The  system  was  already  staggering 
when  Holsten  began  his  researches.  So  far  as 
the  world  in  general  went,  there  was  no  sense  of 
danger  and  no  desire  for  inquiry.  They  had  no 
belief  that  science  could  save  them,  nor  any  idea 
that  there  was  a  need  to  be  saved.  They  could 
not,  they  would  not,  see  the  gulf  beneath  their 
feet.  It  was  pure  good  luck  for  mankind  at  large 
that  any  research  at  all  was  in  progress.  And  as 
I  say,  sir,  if  that  line  of  escape  hadn't  opened, 
before  now  there  might  have  been  a  crash,  revolu- 
tion, panic,  social  disintegration,  famine,  and  — 
it  is  conceivable  —  complete  disorder.  .  .  .  The 
rails  might  have  rusted  on  the  disused  railways 
by  now,  the  telephone  poles  have  rotted  and 
fallen,  the  big  liners  dropped  into  sheet-iron  in 
the  ports;  the  burnt,  deserted  cities  become  the 
ruinous  hiding-places  of  gangs  of  robbers.  We 
might  have  been  brigands  in  a  shattered  and  at- 
tenuated world.     Ah,  you  may  smile,  but  that  had 

286 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

happened  before  in  human  history.  The  world 
is  still  studded  with  the  ruins  of  broken-down  civ- 
ilizations. Barbaric  bands  made  their  fastness 
upon  the  Acropolis,  and  the  tomb  of  Hadrian  be- 
came a  fortress  that  warred  across  the  ruins  of 
Rome  against  the  Colosseum.  .  .  .  Had  all  that 
possibility  of  reaction  ended  so  certainly  in  1940? 
Is  it  all  so  very  far  away  even  now?  " 

"  It  seems  far  enough  away  now,"  said  Edith 
Haydon. 

"  But  forty  years  ago?  " 

"  No,"  said  Karenin,  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
mountains.  "  I  think  you  underrate  the  available 
intelligence  in  those  early  decades  of  the  twentieth 
century.  Officially,  I  know,  politically,  that  intel- 
ligence didn't  tell  —  but  it  was  there.  And  I 
question  your  hypothesis.  I  doubt  if  that  discov- 
ery could  have  been  delayed.  There  is  a  kind 
of  inevitable  logic  now  in  the  progress  of  research. 
For  a  hundred  years  and  more  thought  and  sci- 
ence have  been  going  their  own  way  regardless 
of  the  common  events  of  life.  You  see  —  they 
have  got  loose.  If  there  had  been  no  Holsten, 
there  would  have  been  some  similar  man.  If 
atomic  energy  had  not  come  in  one  year,  It  would 
have  come  In  another.  In  decadent  Rome  the 
march  of  science  had  scarcely  begun.  .  ,  .  Nine- 
veh, Babylon,  Athens,  Syracuse,  Alexandria,  these 

287 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

were  the  first  rough  experiments  In  association 
that  made  a  security,  a  breathing-space,  in  which 
inquiry  was  born.  Man  had  to  experiment  be- 
fore he  found  out  the  way  to  beg^n.  But  already 
two  hundred  years  ago  he  had  fairly  begun.  .  .  . 
The  politics  and  dignities  and  wars  of  the  nine- 
teenth and  twentieth  centuries  were  only  the  last 
phoenix  blaze  of  the  former  civilization  flaring  up 
about  the  beginnings  of  the  new.  Which  we 
serve. 

"  Man  lives  in  the  dawn  for  ever,"  said 
Karenin.  "  Life  is  beginning  and  nothing  else 
but  beginning.  It  begins  everlastingly.  Each 
step  seems  vaster  than  the  last,  and  does  but 
gather  us  together  for  the  next.  This  Modern 
State  of  ours,  which  would  have  been  a  Utopian 
marvel  a  hundred  years  ago,  is  already  the  com- 
monplace of  life.  But  as  I  sit  here  and  dream 
of  the  possibihties  in  the  mind  of  man  that  now 
gather  to  a  head  beneath  the  shelter  of  its  peace, 
these  great  mountains  here  seem  but  little 
things.  .  .  ." 

§  6. 

About  eleven  Karenin  had  his  midday  meal, 
and  afterwards  he  slept  among  his  artificial  furs 
and  pillows  for  two  hours.  Then  he  awoke  and 
some  tea  was  brought  to  him,  and  he  attended  to 
a  small  difliculty  In  connection  with  the  Moravian 

288 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

schools  in  the  Labrador  country  and  in  Greenland 
that  Gardener  knew  would  interest  him.  He  re- 
mained alone  for  a  little  while  after  that,  and  then 
the  two  women  came  to  him  again.  Afterwards 
Edwards  and  Kahn  joined  the  group  and  the  talk 
fell  upon  love  and  the  place  of  women  in  the 
renascent  world.  The  cloud-banks  of  India  lay 
under  a  quivering  haze,  and  the  blaze  of  the  sun 
fell  full  upon  the  eastward  precipices.  Ever  and 
again  as  they  talked  some  vast  splinter  of  rock 
would  crack  and  come  away  from  these,  or  a  wild 
rush  of  snow  and  ice  and  stone  pour  down  in  thun- 
der, hang  like  a  wet  thread  into  the  gulfs  below, 
and  cease.   .   .   . 

§  7- 
For  a  time  Karenin  said  very  little,  and  Kahn, 
the  popular  poet,  talked  of  passionate  love.  He 
said  that  passionate  personal  love  had  been  the 
abiding  desire  of  humanity  since  ever  humanity 
had  begun,  and  now  only  was  it  becoming  a  pos- 
sible experience.  It  had  been  a  dream  that  gen- 
eration after  generation  had  pursued,  that  always 
men  had  lost  on  the  verge  of  attainment.  To 
most  of  those  who  had  sought  it  obstinately  it  had 
brought  tragedy.  Now,  lifted  above  sordid  dis- 
tresses, men  and  women  might  hope  for  realised 
and  triumphant  love.  This  age  was  the  Dawn 
of  Love.  ... 

289 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

Karenin  remained  downcast  and  thoughtful 
while  Kahn  said  these  things.  Against  that  con^ 
tinued  silence  Kahn's  voice  presently  seemed  to 
beat  and  fall.  He  had  begun  by  addressing 
Karenin,  but  presently  he  was  including  Edith 
Haydon  and  Rachel  Borken  in  his  appeal. 
Rachel  listened  silently;  Edith  watched  Karenin, 
and  very  deliberately  avoided  Kahn's  eyes. 

"  I  know,"  said  Karenin  at  last,  "  that  many 
people  are  saying  this  sort  of  thing.  I  know  that 
there  is  a  vast  release  of  love-making  in  the  world. 
This  great  wave  of  decoration  and  elaboration 
that  has  gone  about  the  world,  this  Efflorescence, 
has,  of  course,  laid  hold  of  that.  I  know  that 
when  you  say  that  the  world  Is  set  free,  you  inter- 
pret that  to  mean  that  the  world  is  set  free  for 
love-making.  Down  there,  under  the  clouds,  the 
lovers  foregather.  I  know  your  songs,  Kahn, 
your  half-mystical  songs  in  which  you  represent 
this  old,  hard  world  dissolving  into  a  luminous 
haze  of  love  —  sexual  love.  ...  I  don't  think 
you  are  right  or  true  in  that.  You  are  a  young, 
imaginative  man  and  you  see  life  —  ardently  — 
with  the  eyes  of  youth.  But  the  power  that  has 
brought  man  into  these  high  places  under  this 
blue-veiled  blackness  of  the  sky  and  which  beck- 
ons us  on  towards  the  immense  and  awful  future 

290 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

of  our  race,  Is  riper  and  deeper  and  greater  than 
any  such  emotions.   .   .  . 

"  All  through  my  life  —  it  has  been  a  necessary 
part  of  my  work  —  I  have  had  to  think  of  this 
release  of  sexual  love  and  the  riddles  that  per- 
fect freedom  and  almost  limitless  power  will  put 
to  the  soul  of  our  race.  I  can  see  now,  all  over 
the  world,  a  beautiful  ecstasy  of  waste:  '  Let  us 
sing  and  rejoice  and  be  lovely  and  wonder- 
ful! .  .  .'  The  orgy  is  only  beginning,  Kahn. 
...  It  was  inevitable  —  but  it  is  not  the  end  of 
mankind.  .  .  . 

"  Think  what  we  are.  It  is  but  a  yesterday  in 
the  endlessness  of  time  that  life  was  a  dreaming 
thing,  dreaming  so  deeply  that  it  forgot  itself  as 
it  dreamt,  its  lives,  its  individual  instincts,  its  mo- 
ments were  born  and  wondered  and  played  and 
hungered  and  grew  weary  and  died.  Incalcula- 
ble successions  of  vision,  visions  of  sunlit  jungle, 
river  wilderness,  wild  forests,  eager  desire,  beat- 
ing hearts,  soaring  wings,  and  creeping  terror 
flamed  hotly,  and  then  were  as  though  they  had 
never  been.  Life  was  an  uneasiness  across  which 
lights  played  and  vanished.  And  then  we  came, 
man  came,  and  opened  eyes  that  were  a  question 
and  hands  that  were  a  demand,  and  began  a  mind 
and   memory  that   dies   not   when   men   die,   but 

291 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

lives,  and  increases  for  ever,  an  overmind,  a  domi- 
nating will,  a  question  and  an  aspiration  that 
reaches  to  the  stars.  .  .  .  Hunger  and  fear  and 
this  that  you  make  so  much  of,  this  sex,  are  but  the 
elementals  of  life  out  of  which  we  have  arisen.  All 
these  elementals,  I  grant  you,  have  to  be  provided 
for,  dealt  with,  satisfied,  but  all  these  things  have 
to  be  left  behind." 

"  But  Love,"  said  Kahn. 

Karenin  shook  his  head.  "  You  cannot  stay 
at  the  roots  and  climb  the  tree,"  he  said.  .  .  . 

"  No,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  this  sexual  ex- 
citement, this  love  story,  is  just  a  part  of  growing 
up,  and  we  grow  out  of  it.  So  far,  literature  and 
art  and  sentiment  and  all  our  emotional  forms 
have  been  almost  altogether  adolescent;  plays  and 
stories,  delights  and  hopes,  they  have  all  turned 
on  that  marvellous  discovery  of  the  love  interest, 
but  life  lengthens  out  now,  and  the  mind  of  adult 
humanity  detaches  itself.  Poets,  who  used  to  die 
at  thirty,  live  now  to  eighty-five.  You  too,  Kahn ! 
There  are  endless  years  yet  for  you  —  and  all  full 
of  learning.  .  .  .  We  carry  an  excessive  burthen 
of  sex  and  sexual  tradition  still,  and  we  have  to 
free  ourselves  from  it.  We  do  free  ourselves 
from  it.  We  have  learnt  In  a  thousand  different 
ways  to  hold  back  death,  and  this  sex,  which  in 
the  old  barbaric  days  was  just  suflScient  to  balance 

292 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

our  dying,  is  now  like  a  hammer  that  has  lost  its 
anvil,  it  plunges  through  human  life.  You  poets, 
you  young  people,  want  to  turn  it  to  delight. 
Turn  it  to  delight.  That  may  be  one  way  out. 
In  a  little  while,  if  you  have  any  brains  worth 
thinking  about,  you  will  be  satisfied,  and  then  you 
will  come  up  here  to  the  greater  things.  The 
old  religions  and  their  new  offsets  want  still,  I 
see,  to  suppress  all  these  things.  Let  them  sup- 
press. If  they  can  suppress.  In  their  own  people. 
Either  road  will  bring  you  here  at  last  to  the  eter- 
nal search  for  knowledge  and  the  great  adventure 
of  power." 

"  But  incidentally,"  said  Rachel  Borken;  "  inci- 
dentally you  have  half  of  humanity,  you  have 
womankind,  very  much  specialised  for  —  for  this 
love  and  reproduction  that  is  so  much  less  needed 
than  it  was." 

"  Both  sexes  are  specialised  for  love  and  repro- 
duction," said  Karenin. 

"  But  the  women  carry  the  heavier  burthen." 

"  Not  in  their  imaginations,"  said  Edwards. 

"  And  surely,"  said  Kahn,  "  when  you  speak  of 
love  as  a  phase,  isn't  it  a  necessary  phase?  Quite 
apart  from  reproduction,  the  love  of  the  sexes  is 
necessary.  Isn't  it  love,  sexual  love,  which  has 
released  the  imagination?  Without  that  stir, 
without  that  impulse  to  go  out  from  ourselves,  to 

293 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

be  reckless  of  ourselves  and  wonderful,  would 
our  lives  be  anything  more  than  the  contentment 
of  the  stalled  ox?  " 

"  The  key  that  opens  the  door,"  said  Karenin, 
"  is  not  the  goal  of  the  journey." 

"  But  women!  "  cried  Rachel.  "  Here  we  are! 
What  is  our  future  —  as  women?  Is  it  only  that 
we  have  unlocked  the  doors  of  the  imagination 
for  you  men?  Let  us  speak  of  this  question  now. 
It  is  a  thing  constantly  in  my  thoughts,  Karenin. 
What  do  you  think  of  us?  You  who  must  have 
thought  so  much  of  these  perplexities." 

Karenin  seemed  to  weigh  his  words.  He  spoke 
very  deliberately.  "  I  do  not  care  a  rap  about 
your  future  —  as  women.  I  do  not  care  a  rap 
about  the  future  of  men  —  as  males.  I  want  to 
destroy  these  peculiar  futures.  I  care  for  your 
future  as  intelligences,  as  parts  of  and  contribu- 
tions to  the  universal  mind  of  the  race.  Human- 
ity is  not  only  naturally  over-specialised  in  these 
matters,  but  all  its  institutions,  its  customs,  every- 
thing, exaggerate,  intensify  this  difference.  I 
want  to  unspecialise  women.  No  new  idea. 
Plato  wanted  exactly  that.  I  do  not  want  to  go 
on  as  we  go  now,  emphasising  this  natural  differ- 
ence; I  do  not  deny  it,  but  I  want  to  reduce  it  and 
overcome  it." 

"  And  we  remain  women,"  said  Rachel  Borken. 
294 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

"  Need  you  remain  thinking  of  yourselves  as 
women?  " 

"  It  is  forced  upon  us,"  said  Edith  Haydon. 

"  I  do  not  think  a  woman  becomes  less  of  a 
woman,  because  she  dresses  and  works  like  a  man," 
said  Edwards.  "  You  women  here,  I  mean  you 
scientific  women,  wear  white  clothing  like  the  men, 
twist  up  your  hair  in  the  simplest  fashion,  go 
about  your  work  as  though  there  was  only  one 
sex  In  the  world.  You  are  just  as  much  women, 
even  if  you  are  not  so  feminine  as  the  fine  ladies 
down  below  there  in  the  plains,  who  dress  for  ex- 
citement and  display,  whose  only  thoughts  are  of 
lovers,  who  exaggerate  every  difference.  .  .  . 
Indeed,  we  love  you  more.   .  .  ." 

"  But  we  go  about  our  work,"  said  Edith  Hay- 
don. 

"So  does  it  matter?"  asked  Rachel. 

"  If  you  go  about  your  work,  and  if  the  men  go 
about  their  work,  then  for  Heaven's  sake  be 
as  much  woman  as  you  wish,"  said  Karenin. 
*'  When  I  ask  you  to  unspecialise,  I  am  thinking 
not  of  the  abolition  of  sex,  but  the  abolition  of 
the  irksome,  restricting,  obstructive  obsession  with 
sex.  It  may  be  true  that  sex  made  society,  that 
the  first  society  was  the  sex-cemented  family,  the 
first  state  a  confederacy  of  blood  relations,  the 
first  laws  sexual  taboos.     Until  a  few  years  ago 

295 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

morality  meant  proper  sexual  behaviour.  Up  to 
within  a  few  years  of  us  the  chief  interest  and 
motive  of  an  ordinary  man  was  to  keep  and  rule 
a  woman  and  her  children,  and  the  chief  concern 
of  a  woman  was  to  get  a  man  to  do  that.  That 
was  the  drama,  that  was  life.  And  the  jealousy 
of  these  demands  was  the  master  motive  in  the 
world.  You  said,  Kahn,  a  little  while  ago  that 
sexual  love  was  the  key  that  let  one  out  from  the 
solitude  of  self,  but  I  tell  you  that,  so  far,  it  has 
only  done  so  in  order  to  lock  us  all  up  again  in 
a  solitude  of  two.  .  ,  .  All  that  may  have  been 
necessary,  but  it  is  necessary  no  longer.  All  that 
has  changed  and  changes  still  very  swiftly.  Your 
future,  Rachel,  as  women,  is  a  diminishing 
future." 

"  Karenin,"  asked  Rachel,  "  do  you  mean  that 
women  are  to  become  men  ?  " 

"  Men  and  women  have  to  become  human  be- 
ings." 

"You  would  abolish  women?  But,  Karenin, 
listen!  There  is  more  than  sex  in  this.  Apart 
from  sex  we  are  different  from  you.  We  take 
up  life  differently.  Forget  we  are  —  females, 
Karenin,  and  still  we  are  a  different  sort  of  hu- 
man being,  with  a  different  use.  In  some  things 
we  are  amazingly  secondary.  Here  am  I  in  this 
place  because  of  my  trick  of  management,  and 

296 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

Edith  is  here  because  of  her  patient,  subtle  hands. 
That  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  nearly  the  whole 
body  of  science  is  man  made;  that  does  not  alter 
the  fact  that  men  do  so  predominatingly  make 
history,  that  you  could  nearly  write  a  complete 
history  of  the  world  without  mentioning  a  woman's 
name.  And  on  the  other  hand  we  have  a  gift 
of  devotion,  of  inspiration,  a  distinctive  power 
for  truly  loving  beautiful  things,  a  care  for  life 
and  a  peculiar,  keen,  close  eye  for  behaviour. 
You  know  men  are  blind  beside  us  in  these  last 
matters.  You  know  they  are  restless  —  and  fitful. 
We  have  a  steadfastness.  We  may  never  draw 
the  broad  outlines  nor  discover  the  new  paths, 
but  in  the  future,  isn't  there  a  confirming  and  sus- 
taining and  supplying  role  for  us?  As  important, 
perhaps,  as  yours?  Equally  important.  We  hold 
the  world  up,  Karenin,  though  you  may  have  raised 
it." 

"  You  know  very  well,  Rachel,  that  I  believe 
as  you  believe.  I  am  not  thinking  of  the  aboli- 
tion of  woman.  But  I  do  want  to  abolish  —  the 
heroine,  the  sexual  heroine.  I  want  to  abolish 
the  woman  whose  support  is  jealousy  and  whose 
gift  possession.  I  want  to  abolish  the  woman 
who  can  be  won  as  a  prize  or  locked  up  as  a 
delicious  treasure.  And  away  down  there  the 
heroine  flares  like  a  divinity." 

297 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

"  In  America,"  said  Edwards,  "  men  are  fight- 
ing duels  over  the  praises  of  women,  and  holding 
tournaments  before  Queens  of  Beauty." 

"  I  saw  a  beautiful  girl  in  Lahore,"  said  Kahn, 
"  she  sat  under  a  golden  canopy  like  a  goddess, 
and  three  fine  men,  armed  and  dressed  like  the 
ancient  paintings,  sat  on  steps  below  her  to  show 
their  devotion.  And  they  wanted  only  her  per- 
mission to  fight  for  her." 

*'  That  is  the  men's  doings,"  said  Edith  Hay- 
don. 

"  I  said,''  cried  Edwards,  "  that  man's  imagina- 
tion was  more  specialised  for  sex  than  the  whole 
being  of  woman.  What  woman  would  do  a  thing 
like  that?  Women  do  but  submit  to  it.  Or  take 
advantage  of  it." 

"  There  is  no  evil  between  men  and  women  that 
is  not  a  common  evil,"  said  Karenin.  "  It  is  you 
poets,  Kahn,  with  your  love  songs  which  turn  the 
sweet  fellowship  of  comrades  into  this  woman- 
centred  excitement.  But  there  is  something  in 
women,  in  many  women,  which  responds  to  these 
provocations,  they  succumb  to  a  peculiarly  self- 
cultivating  egotism.  They  become  the  subjects  of 
their  own  artistry.  They  develop  and  elaborate 
themselves  as  scarcely  any  man  would  ever  do. 
They  look  for  golden  canopies.  And  even  when 
they  seem  to  react  against  that,  they  may  do  it 

298 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

still.  I  have  been  reading  in  the  old  papers  of 
the  movements  to  emancipate  women  that  were 
going  on  before  the  discovery  of  atomic  force. 
These  things,  which  began  with  a  desire  to  escape 
from  the  limitations  and  servitude  of  sex,  ended 
in  an  inflamed  assertion  of  sex,  and  women  more 
heroines  than  ever.  Helen  of  Holloway  was  at 
last  as  big  a  nuisance  In  her  way  as  Helen  of  Troy, 
and  so  long  as  you  think  of  yourselves  as  women  " 
—  he  held  out  a  finger  at  Rachel  and  smiled 
gently — "  instead  of  thinking  of  yourselves  as  in- 
telligent beings,  you  will  be  in  danger  of  —  Hel- 
enlsm.  To  think  of  yourselves  as  women  is  to 
think  of  yourselves  In  relation  to  men.  You  can't 
escape  that  consequence.  You  have  to  learn  to 
think  of  yourselves  —  for  our  sakes  and  your  own 
sakes  —  In  relation  to  the  sun  and  stars.  You 
have  to  cease  to  be  our  adventure,  Rachel,  and 
come  with  us  upon  our  adventures.   .   .   ." 

He  waved  his  hand  towards  the  dark  sky  above 
the  mountain  crests. 


"  These  questions  are  the  next  questions  to 
which  research  will  bring  us  answers,"  said  Kar- 
enin.  "  While  we  sit  here  and  talk  idly  and 
inexactly  of  what  Is  needed  and  what  may  be, 
there  are  hundreds  of  keen-witted  men  and  women 

299 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

who  are  working  these  things  out,  dispassionately 
and  certainly,  for  the  love  of  knowledge.  The 
next  science  to  yield  great  harvests  now  will  be 
psychology  and  neural  physiology.  These  per- 
plexities of  the  situation  between  man  and  woman 
and  the  trouble  with  the  obstinacy  of  egotism  — 
these  are  temporary  troubles,  the  issue  of  our  own 
times.  Suddenly  all  these  differences  that  seem 
so  fixed  will  dissolve,  all  these  incompatibles  will 
run  together,  and  we  shall  go  on  to  mould  our 
bodies  and  our  bodily  feelings  and  personal  re- 
actions as  boldly  as  we  begin  now  to  carv^e  moun- 
tains and  set  the  seas  In  their  places  and  change 
the  currents  of  the  winds." 

"  It  is  the  next  wave,"  said  Fowler,  who  had 
come  out  upon  the  terrace  and  seated  himself 
silently  behind  Karenin's  chair. 

"  Of  course,  in  the  old  days,"  said  Edwards, 
"  men  were  tied  to  their  city  or  their  country,  tied 
to  the  homes  they  owned  or  the  work  they  did.  .  .  ." 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  Karenin,  *'  that  there  is 
any  final  limit  to  man's  power  of  self-modifica- 
tion." 

"  There  is  none,"  said  Fowler,  walking  forward 
and  sitting  down  upon  the  parapet  in  front  of 
Karenin  so  that  he  could  see  his  face.  "  There 
is  no  absolute  limit  to  either  knowledge  or  power. 
...     I  hope  you  do  not  tire  yourself  talking." 

300 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

"  I  am  interested,"  said  Karenin.  "  I  suppose 
in  a  little  while  men  will  cease  to  be  tired.  I  sup- 
pose In  a  little  time  you  will  give  us  something 
that  will  hurry  away  the  fatigue  products  and  re- 
store our  jaded  tissues  almost  at  once.  This  old 
machine  may  be  made  to  run  without  slacking  or 
cessation." 

"  That  is  possible,  Karenin.  But  there  is  much 
to  learn." 

"  And  all  the  hours  we  give  to  digestion  and 
half  living;  don't  you  think — ;  there  will  be  some 
way  of  saving  these?  " 

Fowler  nodded  assent. 

"  And  then  sleep  again.  When  man  with  his 
blazing  lights  made  an  end  to  night  in  his  towns 
and  houses  —  it  is  only  a  hundred  years  or  so  ago 
that  was  done  —  then  it  followed  he  would  pres- 
ently resent  his  eight  hours  of  uselessness.  Shan't 
we  presently  take  a  tabloid  or  lie  in  some  field  of 
force  that  will  enable  us  to  do  with  an  hour  or  so 
of  slumber  and  then  rise  refreshed  again?  " 

"  Frobisher  and  Ameer  Ali  have  done  work  in 
that  direction." 

"  And  then  the  inconveniences  of  age  and  those 
diseases  of  the  system  that  come  with  years;  stead- 
ily you  drive  them  back  and  you  lengthen  and 
lengthen  the  years  that  stretch  between  the  pas- 
sionate tumults  of  youth  and  the  contractions  of 

301 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

senility.  Man,  who  used  to  weaken  and  die  as 
his  teeth  decayed,  now  looks  forward  to  a  con- 
tinually lengthening,  continually  fuller  term  of 
years.  And  all  those  parts  of  him  that  once  gath- 
ered evil  against  him,  the  vestigial  structures  and 
odd  treacherous  corners  of  his  body,  you  know 
better  and  better  how  to  deal  with.  You  carve 
his  body  about  and  leave  it  remodelled  and  un- 
scarred.  The  psychologists  are  learning  how  to 
mould  minds,  to  reduce  and  remove  bad  complexes 
of  thought  arid  motive,  to  relieve  pressures  and 
broaden  ideas.  So  that  we  are  becoming  more 
and  more  capable  of  transmitting  what  we  have 
learnt  and  preserving  it  for  the  race.  The  race, 
the  racial  wisdom,  science,  gather  power  contin- 
ually to  subdue  the  individual  man  to  its  own  end. 
Is  that  not  so?  " 

Fowler  said  that  it  was,  and  for  a  time  he  was 
telling  Karenin  of  new  work  that  was  in  progress 
in  India  and  Russia.  "  And  how  is  it  with  hered- 
ity?" asked  Karenin. 

Fowler  told  them  of  the  mass  of  inquiry  ac- 
cumulated and  arranged  by  the  genius  of  Tchen, 
who  was  beginning  to  define  clearly  the  laws  of 
inheritance  and  how  the  sex  of  children  and  the 
complexions  and  many  of  the  parental  qualities, 
could  be  determined. 

"  He  can  actually  do  — f  " 
302 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

"  It  is  still,  so  to  speak,  a  mere  laboratory  tri- 
umph," said  Fowler,  "  but  to-morrow  it  will  be 
practicable." 

"  You  see,"  cried  Karenin,  turning  a  laughing 
face  to  Rachel  and  Edith,  "  while  we  have  been 
theorising  about  men  and  women,  here  is  science 
getting  the  power  for  us  to  end  that  old  dispute 
for  ever.  If  woman  is  too  much  for  us,  we'll 
reduce  her  to  a  minority,  and  if  we  do  not  like  any 
type  of  men  and  women,  we'll  have  no  more  of  it. 
These  old  bodies,  these  old  animal  limitations,  all 
this  earthy  inheritance  of  gross  inevitabilities,  falls 
from  the  spirit  of  man  like  the  shrivelled  cocoon 
from  an  imago.  And  for  my  own  part,  when  I 
hear  of  these  things  I  feel  like  that  —  like  a  wet, 
crawling,  new  moth  that  still  fears  to  spread  its 
wings.     Because  where  do  these  things  take  us?  " 

"  Beyond  humanity,"  said  Kahn. 

"  No,"  said  Karenin.  "  We  can  still  keep  our 
feet  upon  the  earth  that  made  us.  But  the  air  no 
longer  imprisons  us,  this  round  planet  is  no  longer 
chained  to  us  hke  the  ball  of  a  galley  slave.   .  .  . 

"  In  a  Httle  while  men  who  will  know  how  to 
bear  the  strange  gravitations,  the  altered  pres- 
sures, the  attenuated,  unfamiliar  gases,  and  all  the 
fearful  strangenesses  of  space,  will  be  venturing 
out  from  this  earth.  This  ball  will  be  no  longer 
enough  for  us ;  our  spirit  will  reach  out.  .  .  .  Can- 

303 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

not  you  see  how  that  little  argosy  will  go  glittering 
up  into  the  sky,  twinkling  and  glittering  smaller 
and  smaller,  until  the  blue  swallows  it  up.  They 
may  succeed  out  there;  they  may  perish,  but  other 
men  will  follow  them.   .   .   . 

"  It  is   as   if  a   great  window  opened,"   said 
Karenin.  .  .  . 

§  9- 
As  the  evening  drew  on,  Karenin  and  those  who 
were  about  him  went  up  upon  the  roof  of  the 
buildings,  so  that  they  might  the  better  watch  the 
sunset  and  the  flushing  of  the  mountains  and  the 
coming  of  the  afterglow.  They  were  joined  by 
two  of  the  surgeons  from  the  laboratories  below, 
and  presently  by  a  nurse,  who  brought  Karenin  re- 
freshment in  a  thin  glass  cup.  It  was  a  cloudless, 
windless  evening  under  the  deep  blue  sky,  and  far 
away  to  the  north  glittered  two  biplanes  on  the 
way  to  the  observatories  on  Everest,  two  hundred 
miles  distant  over  the  precipices  to  the  east.  The 
little  group  of  people  watched  them  pass  over  the 
mountains  and  vanish  into  the  blue,  and  then  for 
a  time  they  talked  of  the  work  that  the  observa- 
tory was  doing.  From  that  they  passed  to  the 
whole  process  of  research  about  the  world,  and 
so  Karenin's  thoughts  returned  again  to  the  mind 
of  the  world  and  the  great  future  that  was  open- 
ing upon  man's  Imagination.     He  asked  the  sur- 

304 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

geons  many  questions  upon  the  detailed  possibili- 
ties of  their  science,  and  he  was  keenly  interested 
and  excited  by  the  things  they  told  him. 

And  as  they  talked  the  sun  touched  the  moun- 
tains and  became  very  swiftly  a  blazing  and  in- 
dented hemisphere  of  liquid  flame,  and  sank. 

Karenin  looked  blinking  at  the  last  quivering 
rim  of  incandescence,  and  shaded  his  eyes  and 
became  silent. 

Presently  he  gave  a  little  start. 
"What?"  asked  Rachel  Borken. 
"  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said. 
"  What  had  you  forgotten?  " 
"  I_  had  forgotten  about  the  operation  to-mor- 
row.    I  have  been  so  interested  as  Man  to-day 
that   I   have   nearly   forgotten   Marcus   Karenin. 
Marcus  Karenin  must  go  under  your  knife  to-mor- 
row, Fowler,  and  very  probably  Marcus  Karenin 
will  die."     He  raised  his  shghtly  shrivelled  hand. 
"  It  does  not  matter.  Fowler.     It  scarcely  matters, 
even  to  me.     For  indeed,  is  it  Karenin  who  has 
been  sitting  here  and  talking?     Is  it  not  rather 
a  common  mind.  Fowler,  that  has  played  about 
between  us?     You  and  I  and  all  of  us  have  added 
thought  to  thought,  but  the  thread  is  neither  you 
nor  me.     What  is  true   we   all   have;   when  the 
individual  has  brought  himself  altogether  to  the 
test  and  winnowing  of  expression,  then  the  indi- 

305 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

vidual  is  done.  I  feel  as  though  I  had  already 
been  emptied  out  of  that  little  vessel,  Marcus 
Karenin,  that  once  in  my  youth  held  me  so  tightly 
and  completely.  Your  beauty,  dear  Edith,  and 
your  broad  brow,  dear  Rachel,  and  you.  Fowler, 
with  your  firm  and  skilful  hands,  are  now  almost 
as  much  me  as  this  hand  that  beats  the  arm  of  my 
chair.  And  as  little  me.  And  the  spirit  that  de- 
sires to  know,  the  spirit  that  resolves  to  do,  that 
spirit  that  lives  and  has  talked  in  us  to-day,  lived 
in  Athens,  lived  in  Florence,  lives  on,  I  know,  for 
ever.  .  .  . 

"  And  you,  old  Sun,  you  sword  of  flame,  searing 
these  poor  old  eyes  of  Marcus  for  the  last  time 
of  all,  beware  of  me!  You  think  I  die  —  and 
Indeed  I  am  only  taking  off  one  more  coat  to  get 
at  you.  I  have  threatened  you  for  ten  thousand 
years,  and  soon  I  warn  you  I  shall  be  coming. 
When  I  am  altogether  stripped  and  my  disguises 
thrown  away.  Very  soon  now,  old  Sun,  I  shall 
launch  myself  at  you,  and  I  shall  reach  you  and  I 
shall  put  my  foot  on  your  spotted  face,  and  tug 
you  about  by  your  fiery  locks.  One  step  I  shall 
take  to  the  moon,  and  then  I  shall  leap  at  you. 
I've  talked  to  you  before,  old  Sun,  I've  talked  to 
you  a  million  times,  and  now  I  am  beginning  to 
remember.  Yes  —  long  ago,  long  ago,  before  I 
had  stripped  off  a  few  thousand  generations,  dust 

306 


MARCUS  KARENIN 

now  and  forgotten,  I  was  a  hairy  savage  and  I 
pointed  my  hand  at  you  and  —  clearly  I  remember 
it !  —  I  saw  you  in  a  net.  Have  you  forgotten 
that,  old  Sun?  .  .  . 

"  Old  Sun,  I  gather  myself  together  out  of  the 
pools  of  the  individual  that  have  held  me  dis- 
persed so  long.  I  gather  my  billion  thoughts 
into  science  and  my  million  wills  into  a  common 
purpose.  Well  may  you  slink  down  behind  the 
mountain  from  me,  well  may  you  cower.   .  .   ." 

§    lo. 

Karenin  desired  that  he  might  dream  alone  for 
a  little  while  before  he  returned  to  the  cell  in 
which  he  was  to  sleep.  He  was  given  relief  for 
a  pain  that  began  to  trouble  him  and  wrapped 
warmly  about  with  furs,  for  a  great  coldness  was 
creeping  over  all  things,  and  so  they  left  him,  and 
he  sat  for  a  long  time  watching  the  afterglow 
give  place  to  the  darkness  of  night. 

It  seemed  to  those  who  had  to  watch  over  him 
unobtrusively,  lest  he  should  be  in  want  of  any 
attention,  that  he  mused  very  deeply. 

The  white  and  purple  peaks  against  the  golden 
sky  sank  down  into  cold  blue  remoteness,  glowed 
out  again  and  faded  again,  and  the  burning  cressets 
of  the  Indian  stars,  that  even  the  moonrise  cannot 
altogether  quench,  began  their  vigil.     The  moon 

307 


THE  WORLD  SET  FREE 

rose  behind  the  towering  screen  of  dark  precipices 
to  the  east,  and  long  before  it  emerged  above 
these,  its  slanting  beams  had  filled  the  deep  gorges 
below  with  luminous  mist  and  turned  the  towers 
and  pinnacles  of  Lio  Porgyul  to  a  magic  dream- 
castle  of  radiance  and  wonder.  .  .  . 

Came  a  great  uprush  of  ghostly  light  above  the 
black  rim  of  rocks,  and  then,  like  a  bubble  that  is 
blown  and  detaches  itself,  the  moon  floated  off 
clear  into  the  unfathomable  dark  sky.  .  .  . 

And  then  Karenin  stood  up.  He  walked  a  few 
paces  along  the  terrace  and  remained  for  a  time 
gazing  up  at  that  great  silver  disk,  that  silvery 
shield  that  must  needs  be  man's  first  conquest  in 
outer  space.   .   .  . 

Presently  he  turned  about  and  stood  with  his 
hands  folded  behind  him,  looking  at  the  north- 
ward stars.   .   .  . 

At  length  he  went  to  his  own  cell.  He  lay 
down  there  and  slept  peacefully  till  the  morning. 
And  early  in  the  morning  they  came  to  him,  and 
the  anaesthetic  was  given  him  and  the  operation 
performed. 

It  was  altogether  successful,  but  Karenin  was 
weak,  and  he  had  to  lie  very  still;  and  about  seven 
days  later  a  blood  clot  detached  itself  from  the 
healing  scar  and  travelled  to  his  heart,  and  he 
died  in  an  instant  in  the  night. 

THE    END 


The  Works  of  the  Late 

SAMUEL  BUTLER 

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Now  for  the  iirst  time  in  an  accessible  edition 

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